


The Hardened Heart

by AC333



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 73,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC333/pseuds/AC333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her eighth nameday, Arya Stark is separated from her family and loses her memory. After being sold into slavery, becoming no one, and serving corrupt leaders, will there be anything left of her heart when she finds her family?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gives Arya her nameday gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything.

**Arya POV**

The scent of blood filled her nostrils, driving her to run faster. Her four paws were flying over the forest ground, faster than any man could ever dream of running. She glanced behind her shoulder and noticed a streak of orange and black running after her. With suddenly clarity, she realized that she wasn't the predator—she was the prey. Blood was gushing out of the scratch above her left eye, blinding half her vision. Her heart thumped in the chest as the creature came closer, a low growl emitting from its throat. It looked like one of the cats that roamed the Great Hall, looking for scraps of food only to be chased away by the hounds.

A creek appeared in front of her.  _This is where I can lose them_. She put in a burst of speed and leaped, her legs swinging as she sailed over the ravine. She crashed onto the bank, her paws struggling to keep a hold before rolling into the water. Before she could get up, she was pinned down by a heavy creature. She stared into its amber eyes before it brought its orange and white paw up and...

"Arya!" a voice yelled. She shot up, panting. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw a concerned Jon standing over her. "Are you alright?"

She scooted back towards the headboard, leaning her back against it. Nymeria stirred, resting her head on her knee. Arya began to calm down and scratched Nymeria on her favorite spot behind her right year. 

"Yes, I think so," said Arya in a shaky tone. "It was nightmare."  _A very real nightmare._ She glanced out the window to see that the sun hadn't risen yet and shot Jon a confused look. "Why are you here so early? It's still dark."

Jon had a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, a bow in his hands, and a sword on his hip. His grey eyes glinted with excitement. "Get dressed to ride. I have your nameday presents ready," he tossed over his shoulder as he moved out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Arya threw off her furs and pulled on a pair of worn breeches she stole from Bran. She slipped a tunic over her head and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders. She secured it with a silver direwolf pin. She threw her hood up and whistled for Nymeria to follow. She skipped out into the hall, bouncing with excitement. 

Jon leaned against the wall, Ghost patiently waiting at his heels. "Ready?" he asked. Arya nodded, full of excitement and ready for the adventure that Jon had planned. They walked through the halls of Winterfell, deserted at this hour in the morning. They cut through the yard and stopped in front of Hunter's Gate. Two horses were waiting for them, packed with supplies.

Arya asked, "Where are we going?" Jon smiled and kept his lips together. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, the one he got when training with Robb or Theon and was about to get the upper hand. 

"The brown one is for you," he said. Arya smoothly jumped onto her chestnut horse and pulled the quiver of arrows waiting on the saddle over her shoulder. She couldn't hide the grin on her face as she began to understand what they were doing. She put the small bow over her shoulder and shoved her heels into her horse, speeding away from Jon.

She glanced behind her and saw Jon struggling to keep up, the wind mussing up his curls. Girl or not, Arya was the best rider at Winterfell. She threw her head back, laughing. The direwolf pups were struggling to match the horses' pace. They rode until the sun started to creep up from behind the pines. Finally, Jon called out, "Arya! Stop here!"

Arya pulled hard on the reigns and and the horse slowed to a stop. They were deep in the Wolfswood, tall pines covered in snow surrounding them. Arya took a deep breath, breathing in the rich smell of the forest. Small trickles of water flowed out of a frozen stream. She looked up at the grey sky, smiling as flurries of snow landed on her face. Light summer snows were common in the North. Arya hopped off her horse and pulled on a pair of leather gloves. She glanced at Jon as he tied the horses to a tree. "How did you convince father?" she asked.

He smiled, his cheeks flushed red. "I simply reminded father that you have been begging to go on a hunt since you could walk," he said. 

"I can't believe that mother agreed." 

Jon cleared his throat, looking down at his boots. "I believe that Lady Catelyn wasn't exactly happy about it." 

Arya frowned. "Now mother will be mad at you. I'm sor—"

Jon suddenly stopped, bending down so he was eye level with her. "Don't apologize, Arya. You do not influence the way Lady Catelyn treats me. Now, come, we have a lot of tracking to do."

Arya laughed and kissed him on the nose. "I love you, Jon."

He smiled and ruffled her hair. "I love you too, little sister."

* * *

**Jon POV**

They followed along the stream until they found tracks, Arya kicking loose rocks into the water. Jon was under the impression that they were following elk tracks because of the long, half oval-like shape. Arya was extremely excited to even be invited on a hunt, as her father had never allowed her to go before. Jon was finally able to convince his father, but he believed it was only because he was going to the Wall in the next couple of months.

Arya didn't know yet. He was waiting for the right moment to tell her.  _I wouldn't want to ruin her nameday_ , he thought.

They followed the tracks until Arya excitedly squeezed his elbow. A lone elk stood in a small clearing, grazing on the frozen grass. Jon turned to Arya and gestured at her bow. She pulled an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it on the bowstring; her hands were shaking with excitement. She breathed in, pulled back the arrow, and aimed. As she exhaled, she released the string, feeling the bow vibrate in her hands. She hit the elk directly through its neck. It stumbled a few steps before falling, its red blood staining the white snow.

Arya jumped up and yelled, "Did you see that Jon? I'm even better than you!"

Jon laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't say that just yet. But maybe one day you will be. Now, how are we going to get this giant thing home?"

They ended up carving off pieces of the elk to carry in a pack Jon brought along. The animal was simply too big to drag all the way back to Winterfell. Arya insisted on breaking off the antlers as a prize from her first hunt. They also skinned it to make a pelt Arya could use as a rug (even though she also insisted that she would use it as a cloak). Jon nearly laughed at that thought of her lady mother allowing her to wear the pelt of a wild animal.The rest was left to the wolves. Jon and Arya made their way back to the horses, the bag slung over his shoulder. Their direwolves would follow after they ate their fill. The two then built a fire to eat their midday meal before they made the long ride back to the castle.

That was when when Jon decided to pull out his other nameday present and break the news to her. 

"The hunting trip was not the only thing I got you. Here," he said as he handed her the long, skinny package. Arya grinned at him before untying the string tied around the cloth. She stared in awe when she pulled out a long, skinny sword. Her mouth formed a perfect "o".

"Jon!" she finally squealed after a few minutes. She moved to wrap her arms around his neck, sword still in hand.

"Ah ah ah!" he yelled, moving away from the point. "You have to be careful! Father would kill me if you poked out your eye in the first minute you got it. First rule of sword fighting?"

"Stick em' with the pointy end!" Arya shouted. Jon snorted with laughter. "Thank you, Jon. This is the best nameday anyone could ask for." She ran her finger along the steel. 

Jon immediately felt guilty. "There's something else I have to tell you. I'm-I'm joining the Night's Watch. Father thinks it's best. A bastard has no place in the world. At the Wall, I can find honor," he finally blurted out.

"Don't call yourself that!" angrily said Arya. She bit her bottom lip, a habit she only did when she was nervous or she did not want to cry. "You can't leave, Jon. There's no one here who understands me like you do. All Sansa wants to do is talk about boys or needle work. Bran and Robb don't let me play with them because I'm a girl. And Rickon is too young to play with." Tears began to roll down her cheeks, which she stubbornly rubbed away. 

He gently wiped the tears away. "Oh, Arya. You'll find your way here," sadly said Jon. He kissed her on the forehead gestured towards her sword, trying to change the subject. "You know, every sword needs a name."

Arya looked at him, her red rimmed eyes filled with determination. "Sansa can have her needles. I have a needle of my own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you think?


	2. The Wolf Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More presents, more family.

As the sun began to set, Jon and Arya rode through the Hunter's Gate. Arya wanted to stay in the forest the night, but Jon promised father that they would be back by sundown. However short the days felt to the Stark children, Old Nan always reminded them about the long winter, how the sun never came out and the snow fell down endlessly. Arya was glad for the hot springs running underneath Winterfell. But, winter was coming, and she was reminded by her house words every day.

They rode to the stables and hopped off their horses, handing the reigns to the stable boys. Her legs shook with exhaustion, as she had never gone on that long of a ride. Jon seemed to sense that, so he bent down to let Arya jump on his back. The direwolves trailed behind, playfully nipping at each other. 

Arya jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck. She jokingly put the elk's antlers on Jon's head. He simply raised an eyebrow and said, "Are you going to shoot me now?"

She gently hit him with the antlers. "No, stupid. Not while you're carrying me." He chuckled, walking into the castle. They walked into Great Keep where Arya's family was waiting, Arya sliding off of Jon's back.

Rickon was chasing Shaggydog around the tables at breakneck speeds, petrifying serving girls and cupbearers. The large, black wolf turned and playfully nipped at the toddler if he came too close. Rickon let out a shrill laugh every time, having no fear at all. His auburn hair was sticking up everywhere and he had a maniacal glint in his bright blue eyes that matched Shaggydog's green ones.

Bran was sitting calmly at the table, discussing something with Maester Luwin while gently rubbing Summer's head. Bran's direwolf was quite handsome with his silvery fur. Summer sat calmly, not at all interested in the food. He watched Bran with his bright yellow eyes. Bran even turned to Summer for a moment, sharing a thought. The direwolf seemed to understand every word Bran said.

Sansa was talking with her mother, probably about something stupid like needlework or singing. She was playing with her long, bright red hair, dressed in a beautiful green gown. Her mother sat listening patiently. Lady sat calmly next to the two, a bow tied around her neck. Lady was a soft grey color and was the smallest of the litter. Arya glanced down at her own muddied clothing and scoffed at the thought of Sansa going on a hunt.

Robb sat with Theon Greyjoy, probably telling bawdy jokes about some of the girls in Winter Town. The two burst out laughing, Robb patting Theon on the shoulder. Arya had learned a lot from the two (most of it her mother wold not want her to know). Grey Wind sat, flicking his tail impatiently and snapping at the pieces of meat Robb dropped. Robb's direwolf was a smoke grey color and was bolder than him. He was the fastest in the pack, Robb often saying that his wolf ran like the wind. 

Her father sat at the head of the table, watching his family. His stoic face showed nothing, but Arya could always tell his mood from his grey eyes. He noticed the two enter the hall and stood, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Her father said, "I see that your hunt was successful." He was staring at the pelt draped over Arya's shoulders and the antlers in her hands. 

Arya cheerfully said, "I killed it myself! Ask Jon how good of a shot it was!"

Jon ruffled her hair and smiled. "She hit it right through the neck. She's a better shot than Bran, that's for sure," he said, smiling towards his younger brother. Robb and Theon burst out laughing as Bran pouted, reflecting on the last time he tried shooting. 

Her father walked over to give her a hug. "Happy nameday, Arya," he said.

Sansa came next and gave her a reluctant hug, glancing at her muddy breaches and messy hair. "Happy nameday, sister," she said.

Theon patted her on the head and said, "You're nearly a woman grown, Arya!" His jest wasn't taken lightly, especially by Arya's mother. She silenced him with one stern look and he immediately sat down. 

Robb picked her up and swung her around. She giggled as he set her down. He kissed her on the forehead and said, "Happy nameday, little wolf."

Bran and Rickon ambushed her with a big hug.

Lastly, her mother came over and smoothed her hair down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Happy nameday, sweetling. Come and eat. Leave those...things where you are," she said, looking at the antlers and pelt. Arya dropped them on the floor and and moved to her seat at the table. Nymeria bounded over and sat at her feet. She didn't miss the look of contempt her mother shot Jon.

There were not many times that Arya was able to choose everything at dinner, but her birthday was always one of them. She was able to sit in between Jon and her father; Jon rarely was allowed to eat with the Starks but Arya knew that her mother would hide her contempt because it was her nameday. They cooked her favorite meal (roasted chicken with a mashed wild berry sauce). And when dessert came, Arya was allowed to have as much chocolate cake as she wanted. After their meal, Arya's family gave her their presents.

From Rickon she received a scribbled drawing with something that resembled a paw print next to a hand print with a very shaky "ARYA" written on top. Arya assumed that Maester Luwin had attempted to help him, only to stop once Shaggydog got involved. Still, she appreciated the effort and patted his head with gratitude.

Bran gave her one his cherished story books. Arya flipped through the bound leather it and noticed it was about the long winter. There were impressive illustrations along with the text. He said, "Now, this is one of my favorites. I don't want you taking it outside. On second thought, you shouldn't even take it out of your room. You understand?" When it finally left his hand, he looked like he was about to cry. 

From Theon, she received no animate gift. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. "I spent all of my coin in Winter Town," he explained. Arya rolled her eyes. "You're pretty good with a bow, but I can make you better. I'll give you one lesson from the archery master," he said, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

Sansa gave her a package wrapped in brown paper. Arya felt the light weight and knew it was clothing. She tried to hide the look of disappointment on her face. "Well, go on," Sansa impatiently said. "Open it." Arya ripped it open and stared at Sansa in shock. Inside, folded neatly, was a pair of brown riding breaches, a grey doublet, and a leather jerkin. Arya threw her arms around Sansa's neck. "If you're going to dress like a boy, you should at least look noble." 

From Robb, she received a pair of brown ridding boots. "I saw yours were getting worn out. You'll need all the help you can get if you want to beat me in a race." Arya rolled her eyes, knowing that she had beaten Robb many times before.

Her mother gave an expected present—a dress. She noticed Arya's disappointed look and said, "I know you don't like dresses. But even you have to dress like a lady sometimes." Arya could admit that the dress was...pretty... with its soft grey color and lace. 

Last, her father pulled out his gift. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring on a chain, holding it out to Arya. She curiously glanced at his hand, noticing a direwolf, snarling and snapping. Arya ran her finger across the cold metal, noticing how real it looked.

"This was your Aunt Lyanna's."

Arya remembered how each member of the Stark family had a direwolf piece of jewelry—Sansa and Bran had their necklaces and Robb and Rickon had their bracelets. Even Jon had a thick ring. Arya remembered how hurt she was that all her siblings received the jewelry except her. "I've waited long enough to give this to you. You have the wolf blood, Arya. My sister Lyanna had a touch and my brother Brandon had too much. They were a handful for my father, gods know that." He paused with a sad look in his eye. "This ring has room to grow. But, when you are ready, you'll be able to wear it."

Arya smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, father," she said as she fastened the clasp around her neck.

Her mother cleared her throat. "It's time for bed. Even you Robb," she said with her glare that could turn men to stone. The Stark children groaned and gave their parents kisses before heading to their chambers.

As she was saying goodnight to her mother, she noticed that Jory Cassel, captain of the guard, pulled her father aside. The two began to speak in hushed tones and her father put on his serious face, the one he got when he was Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, not the face Arya had seen during dinner. The two practically ran out of the room.

Arya saw that her mother looked very concerned. She put on a smile for Arya that did not quite reach her eyes. "Come, Arya. Let me help you with your hair." The two made their way towards her chambers, Arya wondering what could have upset her father and mother so much. She shook off the thought, as Shaggydog had probably bit someone again. But even with that reassurance, she could not shake the dark feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something bad was going to happen. She just hoped it would go on outside Winterfell's thick walls.


	3. The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors

Arya, Nymeria, and her mother arrived at her chambers and Catelyn promptly sat her down at the vanity to brush the tangles out of her hair. She found the occasional branch, leaf, and pine needle. Arya tried to be as patient as possible but jerked her head when her mother pulled too hard.

Her mother sighed, "Arya, can you at least attempt to stay still?" She looked impatient, a frown etched onto her face.

Arya gave her sheepish smile. "You know I'm not very good at staying still, mother."

A smile creeped onto her lips. "No, I suppose not. I don't know how these years passed by so quickly. It seemed that one minute you learning how to walk and now you're going out all on your own."

At that moment, Nymeria chose to hop onto the bed, curling up into ball. Her mother glanced at the wolf and said, "I thought I told you not to let her on the bed."

Arya was about to respond when there was a frantic knock at the door.

"Lady Stark!" a panicked voice yelled. 

Arya's mother quickly opened the door. Rodrick Cassel was standing at the door, wearing armor and a sword. Arya clutched at _Needle's_  hilt hidden behind her cloak, feeling some comfort from the blade. Lady Stark glanced behind at Arya before asking, "Is everything alright?"

"We must leave immediately. A group of wildlings are approaching Winterfell. Lord Stark has instructed my nephew and I to escort you to Torrhen's Square. We must leave now," he said.

 _How could this be happening? Why would anyone attack Winterfell?_  she thought.

Arya thought that her mother would show emotion. She didn't look panicked or shocked like Arya expected. She just pressed her lips together in a thin line. She held out her hand and said, "Come, Arya."

They quickly made their way out of Arya's room and down to the end of the hall. The rest of the Stark children were waiting with Jory Cassel. All were wearing thick furs and both Robb and Jon were wearing their swords. The wolves were anxiously pacing besides their masters. They all silently made their way to the stables and mounted their horses.

They swiftly headed to Hunter's Gate where her father was waiting. He was as grim faced as ever, his greatsword  _Ice_ strapped to his back.

 _His Lord's_ face, thought Arya

"Ser Rodrick, take Lady Catelyn, Sansa, Rickon, and Robb along the King's Road to Torrhen's Square. Jory, take Arya, Bran, and Jon through the Wolf's Wood. Ride fast, and safely."

Catelyn pursed her lips and said, "Do you think that is wise, my lord? Shouldn't we stay together?"

"No. A large group will attract too much attention. You must travel in a smaller group and leave now. Go. I will await your return," he said. He quickly squeezed her mother's hand. 

They didn't have time to say goodbye before they separated, Jory taking them East through the Wolf's Woods. Just this morning, Arya was thrilled to ride out of the same gate. But now, she only felt dread for what was about to come. Ghost, Nymeria, and Summer stayed quite close. 

They rode for hours through the dark forest. Bran trailed behind, swaying back and forth on his horse. He was obviously exhausted and was never a strong rider. Arya felt tired too, but she forced herself to stay awake. Summer was circling Bran's horse and would stop and look into the woods. In fact, all three of the wolves seemed tense, like they were waiting for something to happen. 

One moment Arya was riding through the woods and the next she was flying off her horse. She landed hard on her head, her vision fading at the edgesShe couldn't see straight, she couldn't think straight. Nymeria was standing in front of her in a defensive stance, growling. A large man covered in grey furs swung his axe Jory. Cassel narrowly dodged, parrying with his own blade. Jon stood in front of Bran with Ghost, attacking a few other men. Summer tore out a man's throat, blood staining the snow. Arya felt as if she was hovering above, observing as an outsider. Another wilding approached her, slashing at Nymeria's eye before the wolf could pounce. Nymeria yelped in pain. Arya tried to grab _Needle's_  but she was too slow. In her triple vision, a butt of a spear came flying down in between her eyes and her world went black. 


	4. Who Am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl wakes up on a cart and fails to remember anything about her life.

She awoke with a start, not knowing where she was. She felt as if she was moving, like she was on a, a... cart! Yes, a cart. She couldn't see because there was a bag over her head. Her hands were bound behind her back and she felt others beside her.

She suddenly realized she didn't know who she was. In a moment of panic, she kicked out and began hyperventilate. With the bag on her face, she she couldn't breathe well and she began to cry. Someone kicked her in the ribs, yelling, "Quiet, boy! Stop moving before I make you stop."

She quieted immediately and tried to calm down, focusing on what she knew. _My name is... I don't know my name. I am from... I don't know where I'm from._ She quickly realized that she had no idea who she was or where she was from. _How old am I? Who am I?_

She knew nothing about herself and abandoned trying to figure it out when the cart suddenly stopped. "Get up you filthy pigs! Up, up!" someone yelled, kicking as he dragged people out of the cart, throwing them on the ground. She landed with a thud and struggled to stand. It was difficult with her hands tied. After a few moments, someone yanked her up and ripped the bag off her head

She blinked, blinded by the bright light. She took in her surroundings and noticed other kids around her age standing in a line. She was in between a sweating fat boy who was eyeing a piece of bread the man in front of them was eating and a blond boy with hair longer than hers.

There were two armored men standing in front of them, wearing no sigils. They paced up and down the line, sneering at their prisoners. One stopped in front of her and she cast her eyes downwards. "We haven't been properly introduced, boy," he said.

 _Boy?_ she thought. 

"My name is Raff the Sweetling. This is Polliver, a good friend of mine." He pointed to the balding man next to him who was gnawing on a piece of bread. For no reason other than his own sick enjoyment, he punched her in the face. 

She crashed onto the ground, her head pounding. Blood started to drip into her eyes. Raff grabbed her shoulders and snapped, "Look at me!" She noticed that he was relatively young, with light brown hair and muddy brown eyes. She tried to summon up as much courage as she could and glared at him. "You try to run, and we'll kill you. Now what's your name?"

She panicked, not knowing what to say. "Uh, uh..."

"Don't know your name, do you?" he mocked with a sneer. "I know what we'll call you. Weasel. You're a small and skinny thing." He roughly pulled her onto her feet.

She suddenly realized why they thought she was a boy. Her hair was chopped short, just below her chin, and she was dressed in breeches and a tunic. She wore no cloak and was shivering from the cold. There was dried blood all over her.

The balding one, Polliver, walked over. In his hands, he held her sword. She clenched her teeth. She remembered that it was her blade. As clear as a sunny day, the word _Needle_ came into her mind.  _I guess that's all I can remember_ , she thought. 

"Where'd you get this sword, boy?" he asked, pulling it out of the scabbard. 

"It's mine," she spat out. 

Polliver raised his eyebrows, his head towards Raff. The man quickly grabbed her, cutting the rope binding her wrists and forcing her to her knees before a tree stump. He twisted one arm behind her back while pinning the other down on the stump. She tried to struggle but was no match for the older man's strength. "You mean you stole it. You know what the punishment is for thieves, don't you?"

Arya swallowed, realizing that he meant to cut off her hand. 

He suddenly laughed at her fearful expression and said, "No matter. I was a thief too. And you got me a nice little sword here."

Raff painfully twisted her wrist a bit more before shoving her aside, standing up and cutting the other boys' bindings.

"Now, you all can go piss in the woods. Just remember what happens to boys who run," Polliver said as he gestured towards something on the ground. That's when she noticed a boy with red hair who seemed to be split in half. His eyes were half open and his arms outstretched. She felt sick to her stomach.

They moved into the woods, relieving themselves. She went a bit further so they couldn't tell that she was girl. She quickly did her business and moved back towards the others. The two boys she was in between before were sitting near the cart. She sat down next to them. "Hi," said the fat one. "I'm Hot Pie, and this is Lommy."

"Hi," she replied, picking dried blood off her face. "I'm Weasel."

"Weasel!" The fat boy said, mocking her. "What kind of name is that?"

"What kind of name is Hot Pie?" she asked, shooting to her feet. She knew she could take this weakling in a fight. 

He put up his hands, surrendering. "I wonder what they want with us."

She sat down again, looking slightly defeated. "I don't know. I don't even remember them taking me."

The blond one, Lommy, looked at her with surprise. "We found you in the middle of the road. They threw you in the cart, saying if you survived they'd just make more money. They're selling us to slavers in White Harbor."

"But don't the lords stop this?" she asked. 

Lommy shrugged. "I heard that the Manderlys get paid to allow slavery. The other lords just don't pay enough attention."

Before she could ask anymore questions, Raff and Polliver got their attention. "Let's get moving, you sons of whores! We're on foot until we reach White Harbor. We trust you won't run. Let's go," said Polliver.

"Wait," said Lommy from his position on the ground. "I fell earlier, and..." She noticed how his ankle was bent at an odd angle.

Raff strode over. "Something wrong with your leg, boy?"

"Yes," said Lommy.

"Can you walk?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," said Lommy. "You got to carry me."

"Alright," Raff said after a moment. She let go of a breath she didn't know that she was holding. He stuck out his hand and Lommy took it. Before he could sit up, Raff stuck a knife through his neck. 

Lommy looked down at the blade and then at Raff, shocked. He coughed up some blood, and then fell down, still. "Carry him, he says." yelled Raff, laughing. He wiped the blood onto Lommy's shirt, spitting on his body. The other boys looked sick or shocked, a silence settling over the group. 

"Walk." commanded Polliver. They wordlessly marched. A sick feeling grew in her stomach until she felt numb all over. That numbness grew into anger and somehow, she would make sure that Lommy's death would be avenged. And they walked.


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasel parts way with a friend and meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos! They help me get past my writer's block!

They walked for days, maybe even a week. She lost track of time, only numbly walking with the rest of the group. Raff and Polliver would often beat those who fell behind. She was able to hide the fact that she was a girl by moving further into the woods when relieving herself. Hot Pie was a good companion, although he never shared his food and always managed to snag the biggest portions. After some time, they reached White Harbor. Raff and Polliver tied ropes to their ankles so they couldn't slip into the crowd. 

They walked through the center of the square, barely past dawn. There were only fisherman out during this time, getting ready for their trips to sea. Arya clenched her teeth when the Manderly guards didn't spare them a second glance. Polliver and Raff commanded the group to wait at the docks. She and Hot Pie were at the far back of the group and as soon as Arya had the chance, she bent down and furiously began to work on Hot Pie's knots. 

"What are you doing?" he furiously whispered, glancing at the front. "Stop that before one of them sees. Do you know what they'll do to you—to me!"

"Shut up," she snapped. Just then the ship pulled in the harbor and Hot Pie's foot was loose. More people began to fill the square and she saw Hot Pie's chance for escape. "Go! I'll catch up."

Hot Pie hesitated, wanting to wait for her, but thought twice when he saw the slavers start to pull the boys forward. He patted her on the shoulder and slipped into the crowd. "Good luck, Weasel."

She pulled on the ropes on her ankle, trying to get loose before she was pushed onto the ground by Polliver. "Trying to run, boy?" he snarled.

He pointed _Needle_ at her neck. Arya fearfully glanced at the thin blade. The sword was suddenly swiped out of his hand by a short man with curly black hair and foreign clothes. He clicked his tongue and said, "If they are injured, we do not buy." He had a thick accent that Weasel couldn't place. 

"Enough, Syrio." Another man walked towards them, wearing elegant clothing. He had short black hair, caramel colored skin, and golden eyes. "Syrio" bowed slightly and stepped back, but Weasel saw his jaw tense. 

The elegantly dressed man frowned. "I ask for fighters and you bring me these children."

Raff and Polliver nervously glanced at each other.

"We didn't know you were coming, Lord Ti'han," said Raff. 

Ti'han growled, "I had to come to this miserable place after the last three shipments of my fighters were worthless."

"We apologize Lord Ti'han but the northern lords have been cracking down on bandits. Especially the Starks," said Polliver with an extra dose of venom. "It's easier to take orphan children. And these boys were the best—"

"Boys?" asked Ti'han with a quiet voice. A voice that commanded you to listen. "That one is a girl," he said in a bored tone, pointing at Weasel. 

 _Shit_ , she thought. 

Polliver and Raff looked at her with open mouths, as did all of the boys down the line. "Why you little cunt!" screamed Raff as he moved to throttle her neck. She tried to take a step backwards but tripped over her tied feet.

Polliver delivered a vicious kick to her ribs, a vein popping out of his temple, until Ti'han said, "Enough. The next time you bring me these pathetic excuses for boys, I'll bring you back to Meereen." Weasel sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the pain.

He then made a harsh command in his native tongue and guards armed with spears and shields in spiked helmets began to herd the boys onto the ship. Syrio, the man who stopped Raff before, held out his hand to help her up. "Why are you dressed as a boy?" he asked. There was no malice in his voice, only a curious look in his eye.

"Safer to travel," she said as he pulled her to her feet. He cut off her bindings. "What's going to happen to us?"

He gave her a look of sympathy. "He wanted men to fight in the pits. They are cheaper to buy in Westeros than from the Dothraki. Recently the bandits have only been giving him boys. The Northern lords are trying to stop the trade. I don't know what he'll decide to do with you, child." They walked up the planks to the boat, the spike-capped men marching behind them.

Ti'han was standing there, conversing with the captain. The spike-capped men let her below the deck, securing her ankle with a chain. It was packed with men, women, and children, all who looked terrified. Syrio sat on the bench next to her but they did not attach a chain to him. "Why don't they chain you?"

He smiled bitterly. "I'm not a slave. I just have an agreement with Ti'han." She noticed that his accent was not like Ti'han's.

"Where are you from? You don't have an accent like the others," she said. 

Syrio smiled again, this time genuine. "You pay attention. That is good. My name is Syrio Forel, the former first swordsman from the free city of Braavos. I now serve Master Ti'han."

"Were you a slave before you started working for Ti'han?" she asked. 

"No, no, child. Braavos is one of the free cities, which means that they do not have slaves," he said. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his upper arm. "Slaves have marks on their right arm. I just serve."

"Why do you serve him if you hate him?" she asked.

"He gives me a month to train the new slaves that are supposed to go into the pits. If I left, more would die." He glanced sadly at the future men around them. "And not all men must die."


	6. A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasel picks a new name and makes a new friend.

After many stops and storms, they finally arrived at Meereen. The boat stopped at Meereen's side of Slaver's Bay. It was named well, as when Arya stepped onto the deck and looked at the docks, she noticed hundreds of people in chains. When she finally stepped off the boat with the other slaves she nearly fell into the bay. Months at sea had made her legs shaky. Syrio grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Thank you," she said, regaining her footing. 

"You're welcome, Nym" replied Syrio. They shared a grin. Once Syrio learned that she had no memory of her past, he decided that the name Weasel wasn't fitting. Especially because Raff and Polliver had given her that name. They spent most of the boat ride coming up with a new one. She remembered that her favorite story was about the warrior queen Nymeria of Rhoyne. The one who brought ten thousand ships to the shores of Westeros and conquered Dorne, sending six Dornish kings to the Night's Watch. She picked the shortened name Nym. 

Syrio found it peculiar that she knew of the books  _Ten Thousand Ships_ and  _The Loves of Queen Nymeria_ , saying that most commoners wouldn't know of those stories. Nym also knew how to read which was quite strange for a commoner. She supposed she was different than most girls. Most loved stupid things like needlework and boys... she liked fighting. 

She was pushed into a line with the other women slaves. Their ages ranged from three to fifty, some women even clutching babes close. Ti'han began to speak to the spiked men, who she learned on the ship were called the Unsullied. The emotionless soldiers started pulling slaves out of line and pushing them towards other slavers, returning with bags of coin. Children screamed as they were separated from their parents. 

Ti'han, oblivious to the suffering he was causing, said in a bored tone, "You can pick twenty, Syrio. I want to be back as soon as possible to wash the grime of Westeros off me." 

Syrio began to point to the tougher looking men and boys. The Unsullied pulled them out of line. She felt her palms begin to sweat and nervously wiped them on her tunic.

 _If I'm sold somewhere else, I'll never see Syrio_ , she thought. 

Syrio moved in front of her. "And her." His face betrayed no emotion. 

A sour look painted on his face, Ti'han looked Nym up and down. "Are you losing your wits. Syrio? She'll be killed immediately—I'll get more money from her in Lys." She had heard about Lys before. It was the city where men went when they wanted a woman. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant; she just wanted to stay with Syrio. 

"No." said Syrio in an even tone. He straightened to his full height, which was about six inches shorter than Ti'han. "We have a deal. I get to pick my fighters, not you. If you are not in need of my services anymore..." She carefully and quietly watched the scene, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to herself. 

They stared at each other for a minute before Ti'han strode off. "If I lose money on this, you'll be the one to pay," he tossed over his shoulder. He stomped off into the crowd, two Unsullied bodyguards trailing behind. 

She watched him go haggle for prices with other slavers. Syrio put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, her frown matching his own. "I am sorry for this but Lys would have been a worse fate," he said. 

"But won't I be fighting in the pits? I won't last a minute!" she hissed. On the ship ride over, she heard the other slaves speak about the fighting pits and how only the best fighters survived. She was a scrawny thing; she was no match for seasoned warriors. There was no way that she could survive in the pits without any training.

"I always train the new recruits for two weeks before they are sent into the pits. You will get time to train and," he looked around before whispering in her ear, "I will give you more time." He glanced around to the crowd, a ghost of a smile lingering on his face. 

She smiled back. At least there was someone who was watching over her.


	7. Fear Cuts Deeper Than Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl masters a skill and learns how cruel Ti'han is.

She laughed and spun away, throwing herself into a one handed cartwheel with her practice sword in hand. Syrio followed with more smooth slashes. She dodged most of them easily. The ones she could not duck under or sidestep, she blocked. When she saw her opening, she returned with a few thrusts of her own. Up, right, down, left, up, up… faster and faster until she plunged the sword forward, tapping Syrio directly in the center of his chest with her blunted sword.

He smiled. "And so the protégée becomes the master," he said, sheathing his thin blade. She did the same, sitting next to him on the long bench in the practice room. She rubbed her right shoulder; it was something she had found herself doing recently. Well, ever since she had gotten the master's mark burned into the face of her shoulder. Although a year had passed, she remembered the moment clearly.

_After all of the slaves were bought and sold, Ti'han told them to walk. His home was not too far from Slaver's Bay. It was a large pyramid in the center of Meereen, surrounded by high metal fences. As the gates shut behind them, she shuddered. She had a feeling that she would not be leaving them for a long time._

_They walked to the slave quarters where they were assigned to stay in different cabins. She was placed with other young women; she found out later that most worked in the house. After they were assigned to cabins, they were escorted into the pyramid where Ti'han waited. Ti'han sat on a golden throne high above them, a large tiger lounging next to him. Although Ti'han was not the king of Meereen, he was rich enough. This gained him power in the city. Nym fearfully stared at the tiger. A fire roared from a pit in front of them._

_"Today," he_ _said, eyes passing over each slave, studying their faces. When he made eye contact with her, she refused to drop her gaze. "You have become my property. You will work for me until the day you die. I do not sell my slaves. If I am unhappy with your work, Tala here will have a large dinner," he said as he gestured towards the animal. The tiger only reacted with a flick of its ears. Ti'han continued. "Since you are now property of the Volantes family, everyone should know it."_

_He got up from his throne and walked towards them, his shoes clicking on the floor. He stopped in front of the brazier and pulled out a metal rod. A glowing red "V" surrounded by a circle was attached to the end. He waved his hand and the Unsullied brought forth the first slave in line._

_As they held him in place, Ti'han took the iron and pressed it onto the face of the man's shoulder. He screamed and writhed in pain but the Unsullied's grip was strong. After a few_ _seconds, Ti'han removed the iron and pushed him away. Her breathing quickened and she glanced around, looking for an opening to escape._

_She felt Syrio behind her, sensing her distress. "Calm as still water," he whispered. "Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords." He repeated the phrase over and over again until she was next in line. The Unsullied brought her forward so fast that she nearly tripped over her own feet. She felt paralyzed by Ti'han's golden eyes. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, waiting for the iron to press into her shoulder._

_When it finally did, she felt pain. Red, hot, blinding pain. Gasping, she tried to jerk away but the soldiers held her in place. She whimpered, but refused to scream, blood filling her mouth from biting her lip so hard. Although it was a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. They pushed her back into line and gave her a copper collar to wear. Syrio continued whispering the saying._

Ever since then, she trained as Syrio's apprentice. He was teaching her how to water dance, the famous Braavosi sword fighting technique. She met many other slave fighters who perished in the pits. Every time Ti'han told Syrio it was her turn to fight, he managed to buy more time, saying that he needed her help with all of the extra students he was taking on. Every night, however, she got lessons from Syrio. 

During the day she was one of the maids in the house. The other women had her fetch items around the pyramid. She scurried around all day, often carrying heavy loads at a time. She grew stronger and faster with her dance lessons. Her hair grew longer, now past her her shoulders, and her skin darkened with Meereen's hot sun. She secured it in a braid that ran down her back. Although she did not know her age, she still had not flowered so assumed she was young.

She blinked away the memory, taking her hand off of her shoulder. She felt no pain anymore but now had a terrible pink scar. She wiped the sweat from her brow but never fully relaxed. Syrio sometimes attacked her after their lesson finished to see if she was quick enough. 

"What are you thinking about, child?" he asked. 

Nym blinked a few times before answering, "Ti'han."

"You are troubled," said Syrio. 

Nym nodded. "How did you know?" she curiously asked. 

“Your words said one thing. But your eyes were shouting the truth,” he said. “Let me tell you something, child.”

“Syrio Forel was the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos,” he said.

“Because you were the best swordsman in the city,” said Nym. She knew this already.

He nodded, answering with his strange lilt. “Just so, but why? Other men were stronger, faster, and younger. Why was Syrio Forel the best? The seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.”

Nym opened her mouth to interrupt but Syrio continued.

“The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord’s collection. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things,” he said.

“The Sealord sent for me. Many Bravos had come to him, and as many had been sent away, none could say why. Even the Graced, like you, were turned away. When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat. He told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise,” he explained. Nym was intently listening, leaning forward.

“‘Have you ever seen a beast like her?' asked the Sealord. And to him I said, ‘Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,’ and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.”

Nym screwed up her face with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Syrio clicked his teeth together. “The cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others expected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. 'How large it was!' they said. It was no larger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. 'What curious small ears!' they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ‘her,’ and that is what the others saw. Are you hearing?”

Nym thought about it. “You saw what was there.”

“Just so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.”

“I think I understand now,” said Nym.

"Good," said Syrio, ruffling her hair. 

"Quick as a snake!" he shouted as he whipped out his sword, slashing at her head. She leaped off the bench, rolling backwards and pulling out her own sword. She gripped it in her left hand and parried his hits. "Quiet as shadow. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost." They continued this way for sometime.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and Ti'han strode in, four Unsullied guards flanking him. "Syrio Forel," he snapped, glaring at her. She stepped behind Syrio, peeking out from behind him, "She goes into the pits tomorrow. I've had enough with your apprentice excuse."

Syrio walked slowly towards Ti'han, his feet making no sound on the stone floor. "That is not possible," he said in his strange Braavosi lilt. "You will earn more if she has more time to train—"

"Enough with the excuses, Forel," growled Ti'han. "I have given you ample time to train her. I told you not to get attached to the fighters."

A long silence grew in the room before Syrio unsheathed his own sharp sword. She had never seen it out before, as they never trained with live steel. It was a gorgeous Braavosi blade, intricately designed.

"No," said Syrio. The Unsullied stepped forward, raising their shields and spears. "I have watched you for too long. It is time that you pay for your crimes."

Ti'han smiled cruelly and dismissed them, taking the spear from one. "You amuse me, Syrio. No one would ever expect Braavos's greatest swordsman would die as a simple slave trainer. You should pray to your gods now."

"There is only one god," said Syrio. "And he is Death. You will be meeting him soon."

Ti'han attacked first, moving his staff faster than she would have thought possible. Syrio jumped, the tip of the spear sweeping under his feet. The two traded moves back and forth for what seemed like hours but were really only minutes. Ti'han, growing more frustrated by the minute, was edging the fight closer and closer to Nym. She didn't notice how close they were until she was backed into the corner.

Ti'han glanced towards her, pushing the spear in her direction, as if to stab her. Syrio thrust his sword forward as far as he could to protect her, the move throwing him off balance. Ti'han saw his opportunity and shoved his spear straight through Syrio's chest.

She screamed. Syrio glanced down at the tip protruding out of it, blood gushing from the area. Ti'han pulled it out and Syrio collapsed in front of her. He tossed down the spear and walked from the room, saying, "Tomorrow, girl."

She started to sob, kneeling down next to his body. Blood was pouring out of the wound but her hand pressed to it could not stem the flow. He spoke. "Be brave, Nym."

"I can't," she choked out, tears rolling down her face. Syrio's face was an ashy grey.

"You mustn't stay with your trouble. If you're with your trouble when fighting happens, more trouble for you," he coughed out.

"Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow," said Syrio in a weak voice. "Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords," he said, each word weaker than the last. He suddenly stopped, his head rolling to the side, eyes glazed over and unblinking. She put her hand over them, shutting the lids.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords," she repeated to herself, rocking in a ball in the puddle of blood. "Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords."

That night, while laying in her thin bunk bed, she repeated it again to herself, tears rolling down her face. Eventually, it lulled her to sleep.


	8. Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym has her first fight.

"A man who fears losing has already lost," Nym whispered. "Fear cuts deeper than swords." She stood outside the Golden Pit, waiting to be sent into the arena. It was stifling hot and she already felt her tunic stick to her back with sweat. Her Northern blood wasn't suited for Essos's weather patterns. Today was a children's match; every day a group of fighters was designated by the city. Some were free men, some slaves, sometimes they were only animals. The Meereenese were cruel people who enjoyed watching slaves suffer; even children.

One of Ti'han's cruel slave trainers told her that she would be in the large fight. They released ten children at a time with no weapons into the ring. The goal was to get to the center, grab a weapon, and then kill the others. She took her necklace out from under her sleeveless shirt and rubbed it for good luck. Suddenly, she was grabbed by the arm and practically dragged into the pit. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright sun.

She saw nine other boys varying from ages six to fourteen gathered around the outside of the pit, waiting for the ringing of the bell. Nym reached up and wiped the sweat off her forehead, getting into a running ready stance with her head tucked down. She tensed, waiting for the signal. When the bell rang, she took off, her feet kicking up clouds of sand. She reached the pile of weapons second. A lanky boy who reached it before her was struggling to grab a sword. She kicked him in the groin and grabbed a Braavosi blade. She quickly backed up to get out of the way and observe the other boys.

The lanky one died first. Her kick had placed him on the ground and another boy shoved a spear through his neck. Five more young boys died within minutes, leaving only four in the pit. The crowd shouted with approval. She glanced and saw Ti'han sitting with the other rich members of the city. She quickly glanced back towards the fight, remembering what Syrio told her about trouble. The two larger ones focused on each other, stabbing and slashing away. The other boy advanced towards her, a horrible scar on the right side if his lip.

With a sword in hand, he grinned as he stalked towards her. She stared at him, unmoving. He had coarse black hair with black beady eyes and was dark skinned. When he was two feet in front of her, she said to herself, _quick as a snake._  She struck first, thrusting at his stomach. He barely dodged in time and she nicked the side of his ribs. He bared his teeth and wildly swung his sword. She ducked under the blow and the crowd cheered. She struck again. _Fierce as a wolverine_. This time, she hit her mark, slashing his thigh. He fell to the ground and she quickly stabbed him in the heart. He was breathing quickly, speaking in his Meereenese tongue. She barely could keep up because he was speaking so quietly. He stopped mid sentence and took a last breath. She turned on her heels and walked away, her stomach rolling. She had never killed before and… _calm as still water_.

She watched the other two finish their fight, the larger one winning. He looked to be about twice her size and the crowd seemed to favor him. "Brutus!" they screamed. "Brutus! Brutus! Brutus!"

She had no idea how she would win this fight. This boy was huge and she wasn't even… _a man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords_. She shoved her fear down her throat and waited for the boy to come to her.

He approached after wiping his axe on the boy he had just killed. He had long, stringy black hair with the beginning of a beard on his chin. Perhaps his master lied about his age. He approached her with the axe, a smirk painted on his face. He thought this was going to be an easy fight. He was in for a surprise.

"Swift as a deer," she whispered as she sprinted forward, rolling at the last moment to avoid his blow. The axe cut deep into the sand and he whipped it up. She slashed at his leg and severed some tenons. He cried out in pain and the crowd yelled with him. Still standing, he swung with his axe which she narrowly dodged. It sliced part of her right arm. She gritted her teeth and stepped forward, thrusting the thin blade into his stomach.

He grabbed it and moaned. "Pull it out!" he screamed, grabbing the blade with his hands. "Pull it out!" A hush fell over the crowd as they watched their victor scream in pain. She complied and pulled it out, stepping backwards. He collapsed onto his back, coughing up blood.

The crowd stayed silent for a moment before erupting into thunderous cheers. They even threw flowers and coins at her.  She ignored their praise and strode straight into the tunnels, waiting to be brought back to the pyramid. She leaned against the cool stone wall. Staring at the blood on her hands, she waited for ten minutes. Suddenly Ti'han was standing in front of her, a new collar in his hand. She bowed silently, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

He practically threw the collar at her, taunting, "A new collar for my new best fighter. Perhaps Syrio was right. She clenched her jaw and ignored the comment, taking off her copper collar and replacing it with one made out of steel. At that moment, she could swear that her heart felt as cold as the metal.


	9. The Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl defies her master and gains a dangerous friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos!

She awoke with a start, her grey eyes wild and hair plastered to her forehead. She had the wolf dreams again; this time she was running through the forest with her huge pack, hunting down a large buck. She was moving further and further away from her brothers and sisters. She felt this horrible longing that translated into anger. The wolf was a vicious animal. After killing the deer, she took a long drink of water from a pond. She was able to see her reflection.

The wolf had dark grey fur with bright gold eyes and her fur was matted and covered with blood. A horrible scar crossed down her right eye. She craned her neck back and sang to the moon. When she woke in her bed, she tasted blood in her mouth. She threw the sheets off and walked on the cool stone floor, feeling the weight of the ring around her neck. The wolf had to have some significance. One of the good things about living in the pyramid was that it kept a constant temperature.

After her first fight, Ti'han allowed her to live in the pyramid. All of his fighters had small rooms and enjoyed more privileges than other slaves. Her only responsibility was to train and win fights in the pits. She was well fed and relatively well dressed. Ti'han even gave her a sword (although she could only use it during the fights).

Five years had passed since her first battle in the pit and she had been a slave for a total of six years. Every week, she killed more and more people. She gave up trying to keep track of her total death toll. She graduated from the children's fights very early and moved on to fight animals and then men. She was one of the best fighters out there, despite her size and age. Every master in the city believed they could find a slave who could beat her. After all, she was only a girl. But every time, she proved them wrong. Her water dancing skills had improved immensely and she was also proficient in hand to hand fighting and other weapons.

Ti'han was very happy that Syrio had chosen her. She still had no name and decided not to go by Nym because it reminded her too much of Syrio. They called her the "Angel of Death" in the pits. Angel because of her sweet appearance and Death, well, because she was so deadly. She despised the name. 

She walked over to the corner of her room where her water basin sat and splashed some cool water on her face, drying it on a towel. She examined herself in the mirror. Her hair was now extremely long and reached the middle of her back. She always tied it in a braid that she tucked under her shirt in the pits. She had grown stronger and faster and was now pure muscle. She may be small but she was strong. She traced a scar that ran down the side of her neck. It was one of her many battle wounds. She had some particularly bad ones from a fight she nearly lost. There was no part of her body that was left unscarred. Some of them even came from Ti'han or his overseers when she disobeyed him. Gods know she had had gotten plenty of whippings.

She did not hide her hatred for Ti'han, instead letting it openly show. She hated that he had bought her in the first place. She hated that he killed Syrio. And most of all, she hated that she had to kill for him. She had disrespected him plenty of times and had been punished for every offense. As foolish as it was, she couldn't stop herself. 

She decided to go train early so most of the other fighters were not in the training area. She could not stand the arrogant men and they could not stand being bested by a little girl. Some gave her trouble and tried to get too close. Usually with enough threats, they backed off. 

She got dressed and headed down to the training area. She walked through Ti'han's large grounds. She decided to take the long way and strolled through the garden. Slave fighters were allowed to go wherever the wished on Ti'han's land. She fingered the petals of flowers on one of the plants as she passed, breathing deeply to inhale the scent. When she arrived to the large training building, she heard a commotion behind it. To her dismay, her main tormentor was there. Xendar was a large young man from the Basilisk Isles who grew up as one of Ti'han's favorite fighters. She guessed that Xendar felt threatened by her presence. She often found him beating the children slaves for no reason. He even tried to beat her a couple of times.

This time, however, he was threatening three small girls. He had them cornered on a wall and had a flail in hand, the spiked ball rattling against the chain. He was yelling at one to strip. She felt her blood boil; men had no right to treat women that way and it was time that she taught Xendar a lesson.

"Xendar!" she yelled, striding up to him. She felt no fear. Three Unsullied guards stood by, watching and doing nothing. One, strangely, had long red hair with a white streak tied back in a bun. They didn't stop the large man because Ti'han allowed to fighters to treat the other slaves however they wanted. Xendar turned his back to the girls and smiled cruelly when he saw her appraoch. 

"If it isn't the little angel," he said mockingly. He stood a full foot taller than her and had shoulders twice as wide. Black curly hair covered his head and he had a long scar running from his left cheek down to his chest. "Come to get a piece too?" he laughed.

"Stay away from the other slaves," she warned, slipping a knife she had stolen from the kitchens into her hand. She nodded towards the three terrified girls who ran away as fast as possible. The three guards stood unmoving.

Xendar raised his flail. "Apologize," he said firmly. "Or else."

She smiled sweetly, as if she was an angel. "I'm sorry," she said, tightening her grip on the knife. She took a step towards him and he lowered his flail with a satisfied smile on his face. "I'm sorry that you're foolish enough to believe me!" She whipped out the knife and stabbed it in his arm, forcing him to drop his flail. 

However, before she could pull it out and stab him again, two guards collapsed on her, lifting her into the air, her feet dangling and kicking. She screamed and tried to bite, kick, scratch, and claw her way out, but she was trapped. They dragged her in the direction of the pyramid. She hoped that Tala had already eaten because Ti'han was going to be livid.

* * *

  
Ti'han was sitting straight up on his throne, Tala besides him when she was dragged in by the same two guards. She had given up trying to escape their iron grip. Xendar had walked ahead and gotten his arm bandaged. He was standing by Ti'han's side, like the loyal dog he was. Standing next to Xendar was Weese, the cruelest overseer. His whip was sitting on a loop on his belt.

Ti'han watched her with his golden eyes. "Girl," he said. "Is what Xendar told me true?" His unmarred tan skin shone from the light shining through the windows and his clothes were perfectly tailored. Compared to her simple rags and dirty face, he looked like a king.

"And what did Xendar tell you, Master Ti'han?" As much as she tried, she could not keep the attitude out of her voice. Especially when she called Ti'han her master.

The side of his mouth twitched upwards, as if he was amused. "That you stabbed him in the arm with a stolen kitchen knife. He will not be able to fight this weekend. Once again, you've managed to make me lose my betting money."

"Only after I saw him assaulting three young girls. And he deserves a lot more than a little cut to the arm for what he was doing," she shot back, her face flushed. "Xendar is weak if he can't fight with a simple stab wound. I've gone into the pits with worse."

The guards tightened their grip on her arms as Ti'han got off the throne and walked forward.

"Here's the truth, Angel," he said as he reached her. He walked with his hands behind his back and his head held high. "I don't care if my fighters attack other slaves. I don't care if they attack other people. What I do care about, is my fighters getting hurt and losing my money." Ti'han stopped in front of her.

She raised her chin and spoke tauntingly. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "I'm your best fighter. I earn the most money. You can't do anythi—" she was interrupted by a sharp backhand to her cheek, her head cracking to the side. The guards held her up.

Ti'han didn't stop there. He quickly punched her in the stomach as hard as he could. She gasped from the pain and the Unsullied dropped her. She landed on the ground with a thud. Ti'han gripped her hair, raising her head from the floor. "That's where you're wrong," he whispered in her ear. "Don't ever believe that I can't make your life a living hell. Weese! Thirty lashes to her back. And then rub salt in the wounds."

She watched his receding boots, blood dripping from her mouth. She was too shocked to even raise her head.

"Remember this moment. I own you. And I can do whatever I want."

* * *

After receiving her punishment, Weese cut the ropes holding her wrists to the stake and left her with a swift kick to her ribs, laying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. The slaves who had gathered to watch the public ordeal left soon after. No one stopped to help her; most slaves resented the fighters. The square emptied and she lay there, clenching her fists in pain. Out of nowhere, a lone Unsullied soldier slowly walked up to her.

He stuck his hand in her face. "Lovely girl," he said. "Get up. A man will help you clean your wounds." She stared at him with an open mouth. Unsullied never spoke unless spoken to. She took his hand in awed silence and he helped her up. He wrapped a cloak around her shoulders as Weese had taken off her shirt so the whip stung more.

He lead her to one of the storage buildings. She sat down on a barrel. He took of his mask and helmet, letting down his shoulder length hair. It shone like copper. She suddenly realized that he was the strange Unsullied from earlier that morning. "Who are you?" she warily asked. He lifted a bowl of water and cloth and sat down on a barrel behind her. She winced as he began to clean the marks on her back.

"Jaqen H'ghar." She had trouble placing his accent but finally decided it was Lorathi. "A man pays his debts. A man owes three."

"Three what?" she asked. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"You saved those three girls' lives from that brute. The Red God takes what is his, lovely girl. And only death may pay for life. You stole three deaths from the Red God. We have to give them back. Speak three names, and a man will do the rest. Three lives I will give you. No more, no less. And we're done." He began to wrap bandages around her back. Although she was wearing no shirt, he made no move to attack her. She thought about what he said. He was giving her the power to kill anyone.

 _Ti'han could die_ , she thought. _No, I mustn't. I will not let someone else kill him. He's mine to kill._ She thought back to the ones who had sold her to Ti'han. _Polliver and Raff the Sweetling. No. They're gone by now._

"Xendar. And Weese," she finally said. He was the one who had started all the trouble. He deserved to die first. And with one of Ti'han's best fighters dead, she would be more valuable to him. Weese had whipped her a countless number of times, thoroughly enjoying every chance he got. The others could wait.

"It is done," said Jaqen and he finished bandaging her. He put back on his helmet and mask and walked from the room. "Go now, girl." She slowly walked to her room, locking the door behind her. She received the good news when a serving girl dropped a meal at her door.

Later that night, she lay in bed on her stomach, remembering all of the people who wronged her. Ti'han was first, as he killed Syrio and treated her terribly. Xendar was next because he was so cruel to the other slaves. Well, he wasn't a problem anymore, as the serving girl had whispered. He had died that afternoon, falling out of a high window in the pyramid. Weese had also died, one of his favorite dogs tearing out his throat. Raff the Sweetling who ruthlessly murdered Lommy. Polliver was right next to him. He stole _Needle_ , one of the only things she had left of her past life. And the Manderlys were on there too, for turning a blind eye to the slave trade. She had to remember them.

"Ti'han," she whispered, laying in bed and staring at the cracks in the ceiling. "Raff the Sweetling. Polliver. The Manderlys." She promised that when she escaped, she would kill them all.


	10. The Last Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel finally has enough of Ti'han and uses her last name.

She stood in the doorway of Daznak's Pit, hearing the chanting of the crowd. "Angel! Angel! Angel!" they chanted. They were excited for her first match. These were usually against cripples, beasts, or unskilled slaves. She tried to make their deaths as quick as possible. She leaned against the arch, a rapier on her hip along with a few other daggers. She had been in Ti'han's service for four nears now and every day she grew more sick of it. She truly was an Angel of Death. She had won every single match she had been placed in, no matter the other fighter's skill. 

She still had no recollection of her past. The furthest back she could remember was waking up in Raff the Sweetling's and Polliver's cart with Lommy and Hot Pie. _Needle_ was taken from her there, one of the only things she had from her past life. She fingered the snarling wolf ring she wore on a necklace. Maybe that was somehow connected to her wolf dreams. The direwolf grew larger and meaner every night. She always woke with the taste of blood in her mouth.

Once she received the signal to head into the arena, she tucked in her necklace back into her shirt and walked in, the sun nearly blinding her. She unsheathed her sword and headed to the center, staring at the dais Ti'han sat in. He wore an elegant gold tunic and breeches. They matched his skin tone and eyes very well. 

He raised his cup, as if to toast her. She quickly looked away and focused her silver eyes onto the doorway where they would release her competitors. She sighed; these fights were always the worst. She was hoping for a lion or rabid pack of dogs. She hated killing the weak.

The gods ignored her prayers. Three young boys timidly entered the arena, swords in hand and helmets so big that they fell into their eyes. They were shaking with fear. She felt her blood boil, remembering what it was like to be that terrified. No child deserved to be put in that position. 

They slowly made their way towards her, the crowd throwing insults at them. When the bravest of the set tried to thrust his sword at her, she easily disarmed him and knocked him to the ground. The other two were distracted and she disarmed them just as easily. They stared at her, their weapons at her feet. She clenched the rapier in her hand. The crowd was calling for blood.

 _No,_ she thought.  _They will not get what they want._

She sheathed her sword and walked to the exit tunnel. The crowd began to boo and jeer. She ignored their curses and walked with her head held high. She passed Ti'han's seat.

"Angel!" he hissed. She ignored him. "You finish them! Angel!" he roared.She continued to walk to the tunnel when she heard a thud behind her. Ti'han landed in the sand like a cat, slowly rising. He had his spear in hand. A hush falling over the crowd. "I believe I gave you an order," he snapped.

"And I believe I ignored it," she said mockingly. She unsheathed her Braavosi sword. "Or did you forget?"

"For all the money you make me, Angel," he said, spinning the spear in hand, "You're simply not worth it."

He thrust his spear and she spun away, slashing her blade at him. He blocked it with his spear and kicked her in the chest. She stumbled to the ground, rolling backwards and coming up on her knees. She slashed at Ti'han's leg and managed to stick part of his thigh. She was already panting

He roared in pain and tackled her to the ground, pinning her down with his knees. Her sword clattered a couple of feet away. She struggled to push him off but he was fueled by rage. He pulled out at a knife and stabbed down towards her face.

At the same time, she bucked and knocked him off of her. But he still he managed to catch the right side of her face with the blade. She cried out with pain, blood blinding her right eye. She couldn't tell if he managed to hit her eye, but prayed she still had her sight. While he was scrambling for his spear, she grabbed her sword and stabbed him in the shoulder.

She pulled it out and grey eyes met gold. Unsullied guards began to flood the arena. "You're not my master anymore." She turned and ran out of the exit tunnel, hitting a lever to close the gate behind her.

She killed the mercenary guarding the door before he could pull out his sword. She wripped material off of his shirt and used it to soak up some of the blood pouring out of the cut over her eye. 

 _I have to get out of here_ , she thought. _I have to escape. But how?_   She suddenly remembered Jaqen! He still owed her one name and guarded one of the less used entrances into the pit. She ran there as fast as her legs could carry her, barely pausing to kill the mercenaries strolling through the tunnels. _Silent as a shadow._

When she finally made it to him, she yelled, "Jaqen! I need your help." She paused in front of him, bending over, panting. 

"Lovely girl," he said, bending down to stay level to her. "What happened to your face? Are you hurt?" There was no one in sight; they probably assumed that she went out the closest exit. 

"I need you to help me escape," she said, glancing over her shoulder. Blood continued to pour out of the gash on her forehead and she felt slightly dizzy.

"A man gave you names. I cannot help you escape," he said, his eyes flickering back and forth between her face and the door.

"Now's not the time to argue! They're after me! They're going to kill me!" she yelled, practically hysterical. If Ti'han found her…

"No," he said firmly. "Help was not promised. Only death."

Her face twisted into a frown and she stood up straighter. "Jaqen H'ghar," she said, looking deadly serious. "That is my final name."

"Un-name," he said carefully. "Please." She grew a bit nervous. If she made him angry...

"No." She snapped. She then gave him a sweet smile and said, "A man can kill himself." He stared at her, jaw clenched.

"Clever. A girl lacks honor," he said, looking down the hall. They started to hear shouts. She shrugged and nervously glanced down the hall with him. "Come with me. It is time we leave." She followed him out the exit into Meereen's hot sun. She paused to take one last look at Daznak's Pit, hoping she would never see it again. The two of them slipped into Meereen's crowd.


	11. The House of Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salty arrives at the House of Black and White.

She stood at the bow of the ship, breathing in the salty air. The sun warmed her face. The sailors had taken to calling her salty because her hair always smelled like salt. But she couldn't help it. After being a slave for so long, she embraced her new freedom. Braavos was not far now. In fact, the captain told her that they would arrive by noon. She was slightly nervous but also excited. She pulled out the iron coin Jaqen gave her and whispered, "Valar Morghulis." She closed her eyes and remembered.

_As soon as they escaped from the tunnels, Jaqen pulled two cloaks off of a clothesline and pulled the hood over her head, hiding her bloody face. He told her to keep her head down. He had taken off parts of his armor and left his staff and shield in the arena. They made their way to Meereen's crowded docks and he looked around for a minute before tugging her towards a boat._

_He spoke quietly to the the captain who looked like he had seen a ghost. He nodded and gestured towards her. She tried to focus on her feet. Suddenly, he shook the captain's hand and gave him a sack of coins. He made his way to her and bent down to her level._

_"A man must leave now. You will go to Braavos," he said, a somber look on his face._

_"My dancing master is from Braavos," she said, her lips curling to almost form a smile. She suddenly frowned again. "But where will I go? I want to learn how to kill, how to be silent," she said. "Like you." The cut over her eye had stopped bleeding and was now crusted down her face._

_"To be a dancing master is a special thing, but... to be a Faceless Man... that is something else entirely. A girl has many names on her lips. Ti'han, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, the Manderlys. Names to offer up to the Many Faced God. She could offer them all. One by one," he said in a serious tone._

_"I want to learn," she said firmly. "Teach me."_

_"I cannot. A man has duties as well. Take this," he said, offering her a worn iron coin. It had a hooded figure on one side. However, the face must have rubbed off it was so old._

_"Offer this coin at the House of Black and White and say these words, Valar Morghulis," he said, closing her hand around the coin. He stood up and turned to walk away._

_"Please don't go, Jaqen," she said, tears in her eyes. She had no one. First Hot Pie, then Syrio, now Jaqen. She didn't want to be alone._

_"Jaqen is dead. Say it: 'Valar Morghulis,'" he said, turning away._

_"Valar Morghulis," she said quietly._

_"Good." When he turned to face her again, his face changed to another man's. She took a startled step back, in shock. "Goodbye." He pulled his hood over his head and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her with the cold coin clutched in her hand._

When she finally got on the boat, the captain greeted her. "Valar Morghulis," she said. 

He touched his right hand above his right eyebrow and replied, "Valar Dohaeris." She learned a few weeks later that it meant all men must serve. She was given the captains quarters and the crew was told to stay away from her. She enjoyed her freedom.

She left the ship's deck and went to her quarters where she cleaned her cut. One of the crew members stitched it for her. She locked the door behind her and sat down at a desk, bringing a small mirror with her. She looked at her reflection. Her face was tanned. Grey eyes were framed by dark brows and long lashes. Her wavy dark brown hair fell to the middle of her back. She cut choppy bangs to cover the top of her right eye so the scar would not be seen. 

When she brushed back her hair, she saw pink scar. The stitches had been taken out some time ago but it was still healing. It went from the middle of her forehead cutting into part of her eyebrow. Any further, and Ti'han would have taken out her eye. She frowned at the thought of him. 

"Ti'han," she said, dabbing at her eye with water. "Polliver. Raff the Sweetling. The Manderlys. Valar Morghulis." She then sat on her bed and pulled out a book, waiting for the ship to dock in Braavos.

* * *

She waved to the captain's son as he rowed down the canal in his rowboat and turned to face the two gigantic doors in front of her. When they arrived at Braavos, she first noticed how foggy the city was. She could only see the silhouette of the Titan. He was dressed as a warrior, a sword raised in the air. It let out a loud blast when their ship traveled through his legs. She had just climbed up a rocky set of stairs to get to the large building made of dark gray stone. It had no windows and no slanted roof. In the center, sat two doors at least ten feet high. The right was made of ebony, the left weirwood. Half a carved moon face made of ebony sat on the left and one made of weirwood on the right. 

She raised her hand and knocked. The door swung open and she hesitantly stepped forward. The room was dark and her eyes adjusted for a few minutes. When she could see again, she saw she was in some type of temple. A pool ten feet across sat in the center of the room made of dark black marble. Around it were statues of gods. She counted thirty in all, but could not tell who they all were. She knew some; the Weeping Woman, the Lion of Night, Hooded Wayfarer, Bakkalon, the Moon-Pale Maiden, the Merling King, and the Stranger. 

She studied them for a while. A man was kneeling at the base of the pool. He dipped his hand in and his fingers came back red. She brought him a cup, figuring he must be thirsty. He grabbed it, dipped it in the pool, and took a long drink. Then he staggered over to a bench and laid down. Older people were sleeping on other benches around the temple. _Not sleeping. They are dead. Look with your eyes._ She waited for someone to appear. She jumped when she felt a tap at her shoulder. 

"What are you doing here, child?" he asked. She could not see his hooded face. He was wearing a long hooded robe, the left black, the right white. "You are young to seek the gift"

"Valar Morghulis," she said, fumbling and reaching for the coin she kept in a pouch. She pulled it out. "What is this place? Jaqen H'ghar sent me." 

He frowned. "There is no Jaqen H'ghar here. What is your name?" he asked. She could see a glimmer from his eyes under the hood.

"Salty," she said. 

"No," he stated. "Your real name."

"Angel."

"No."

"Nym."

"Closer," he said. She could tell he was smiling.

"Weasel," she lied, biting her lip.

He stayed silent.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I don't know my name."

"Good," he nodded. "Do you fear death, little one?" he asked.

She bit her lip again. "No."

"Let's see." He pulled back the hood. There was no face beneath it. Only a skull with a few scape of skin slinging to it. "Kiss me, child," He said. His voice was deep and shaky, like a death rattle.

She stood on her tip toes and kissed him where his nose should be. The skull melted away and in its place was the kindliest old man she had ever seen. "Are you hungry, child?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"Yes," she said.

_But not for food. Ti'han, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, the Manderlys. Valar Morghulis."_


	12. No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She leaves her past behind.

She did not do much in her first weeks at the temple. She lived below it with three other acolytes, serving men, Umma (the cook), and the Waif. The Waif was a young girl with a pale face and large eyes that seemed to follow her everywhere. She only observed. She helped Umma in the kitchen and learned a bit of Braavosi that way. She was given a servant's uniform to wear; baggy breaches and a gray robe with soft slippers. 

Everyday, the Kindly Man would ask her, "Who are you?"

She would reply, "No one."

And everyday, he told her that she lied. She could not understand why he thought that, until he caught her with her necklace. He passed her cell and saw her staring at the snarling wolf. "You must rid yourself of all of this," he said.

"But this is all I have!" she cried. The wolf ring was the only connection to her past. 

"These belong to your past life, along with your clothes. They will remind you of it as much as your scars do. We are servants here," he said, gently taking the wolf out of her hand and staring at it.

"I serve," she said, slightly angry at his accusation. 

“Before you drink from the cold cup, you must offer all you are to Him of Many Faces. Your body. Your soul. Yourself. If you cannot bring yourself to do that, you must leave this place," said the Kindly Man.

“The iron coin—” she started.

“—has paid your passage here. From this point you must pay your own way, and the cost is dear," he dropped the jewelry back into her hand.

“I don’t have any gold," she said, defeated.

“What we offer cannot be bought with gold. The cost is all of you. Men take many paths through this vale of tears and pain. Ours is the hardest and few are made to walk it. It takes uncommon strength of body and spirit, and a heart both hard and strong," explained the Kindly Man. "You believe this is the only place for you. You are wrong in that. You would find softer service in the household of some merchant. Or would you rather be a courtesan, and have songs sung of your beauty? Speak the word, and we will send you to the Black Pearl or the Daughter of the Dusk. You will sleep on rose petals and weak silken skirts that rustle when you walk, and great lords will beggar themselves for your maiden's blood. Or if it is marriage and children you desire, tell me, and we will find a husband for you. Some honest apprentice boy, a rich old man, a seafarer, whatever you desire."

She silently shook her head.

"Is it Westeros you dream of?" he asked. 

She did dream of her wolf in Westeros, but did not want to return there. "I came from Westeros," she said sadly. "I'll go if you don't want me, but I won't go there."

"My wants do not matter," said the Kindly Man. "It may be that the Many-Faced God has led you here to be His instrument, but when I look at you I see a child…and worse, a girl. Many have served Him of Many Faces through the centuries, but only a few of His servants have been women. Women bring life into the world. We bring the gift of death. No one can do both."

"I don't care about that," she said stubbornly.

"You should. Stay, and the Many-Faced God will take your ears, your nose, your tongue. He will take your sad grey eyes that have seen too much. He will take your hands, your feet, your arms and legs. He will take your hopes and dreams, your loves and hates. Those who enter His service must give up all that makes them who they are. Can you do that?" He cupped her chin and gazed deep into her eyes, so deep it made her shiver. "No," he said, "I do not think you can."

She smacked his hand away. "I can! I can give up anything I want!"

He gestured towards necklace. "Then start with that."

That night, after whispering her names, she could not sleep. Finally, she gathered the clothes and wolf necklace, making her way down the steps to the docks. It was dark and misty out. She could not see ten feet in front of her.

She stopped at the edge of the docks. First, she pulled of her stolen cloak and dropped it into the water. Then her boots. Then her pants. Then her tunic. Then her small clothes.

Then she dropped in her Braavosi rapier, the one she had fought with in the pits and stabbed Ti'han with. It made the loudest splash. 

She pulled the necklace out from around her head. _Drop it,_ she told herself. _It's only a necklace…_

But it wasn't. It was the only thing she had left that connected her to her past. She turned her back on the canal and made her way back up the steps. One rocked beneath her feet. She stopped and pried it up with all of her strength. Then she kissed the ring on the chain and tucked it under. 

"You'll be safe here," she told it. She replaced the step and whispered, "One day." Then she made her way back into the temple. When she returned, she was given an acolyte's robe of black and white. It was softer than anything she owned. 

After that, she trained with the Waif. Although Syrio made her stand one toe until her legs trembled, chase cats around for hours, and water dance until her hands were covered in blisters, learning other tongues was harder.

She progressed more and more every day, but still struggled. The Waif was also teaching her how to lie. The Kindly Man told her that she must learn how to lie better. Everyday he asked who she was, and everyday she replied no one. He always said that she was lying.

She asked him to learn how to change her face, like Jaqen did. "First, you should learn simple mummer's tricks," he told her. "Become the master of your face. A smile, frown, or blush should not come by itself. Learn to control it."

Everyday she practiced in front of her mirror, puffing out her face and holding it. And everyday, she could control her face more and more. She also learned about poisons with the Waif. She taught her to tell Tears of Lys from the Strangler. She could tell poisons by smell or even by sight.

One day, the Kindly Man told her, "Your accent is a horror. You must leave us, and learn to speak better."

"Where?" she asked.

"Go down to Braavos's main square. There you will find a man named Busco. You will sell clams and mussels for him," he said, leading her down a long hallway. They reached one of the storage rooms, the one filled with clothes of all sizes. "You will need a name."

"Salty," she replied, pulling off a shirt and pants off a shelf, slipping them on.

"No," replied the Kindly Man, handing her a pair of boots. "Salty is known. Someone else."

"Cat," she said. _Cat of the Canals_ , she thought.

"Where are you from, Cat?" asked the Kindly Man.

"Meereen," she replied. "An orphan from Meereen."

The Kindly Man nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Who are you?" he asked, studying her carefully.

"No one."


	13. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No One gives her first gift.

She was happy. It was almost funny because she couldn't remember the last time that she was happy. But for the first time in a while, she was. She lived with Brusco and his family, selling clams and mussels, learning Braavosi tongue. Sometimes while she was pushing around her barrel, she would throw one to the cats that lived in the city. They started to follow her around. She was happy with her identity of Cat. The Cat of the Canals.

One day, she was sent to go back to the House of Black and White. When she returned, the Kindly Man asked her who she was. She replied, "No one" in Braavos's tongue. He smiled at her use of Braavosi, her Westeros accent nearly gone. While she was there, the Waif gave her a potion to drink. When she woke up the next morning, she was blind.

After the initial panic settled down, she stumbled around to get dressed and walk downstairs, running her hand along the wall. When she finally made it to the kitchen, she demanded to know why they blinded her. The Kindly Man told her she must learn to see without her eyes. 

During the day, she tied a blindfold around her head and walked with a cane, begging for coins. She called herself Blind Beth. She got better at lying and detecting other's lies. At night, she was sent to clean the bodies from the lower levels of the temple. And each night while sorting though their clothes and slowly putting the coins in the right piles, she was attacked by someone. 

One night, she stuck her hand out and caught the cane that was flying down to hit her. "Good," said the Kindly Man. "You've learned."

She was given a potion to drink. When she woke up the next morning, she could see. What the Kindly Man did not know was that she had seen him attacking her from the rafters through the eyes of a cat. That was the first time she warged. She figured out that her wolf dreams were her warging at night. She somehow had a connection with the direwolf. 

"You will become the Cat of the Canals again," said the Kindly Man. "The gift must be given to a man. It is not for you to judge him, but the Many Faced God. Can you do this?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I am no one."

She went back to Brusco's house that very night and greeted him with the High Valyrian phrase, "Valar Morghulis."

He touched his brow in shock and replied, "Valar Dohaeris." And she became the Cat of the Canals. 

She studied the man. He always walked with two body guards. He was well past fifty, but age did not make him kind. He was angry and mean. When she told the Kindly Man that he was evil, he tsked, "It is not for you to judge. Will you use the gift for your own pleasure?" 

Although she told him no, she couldn't help to think, _Ti'han, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, the Manderlys, Valar Morghulis._

She learned that the man was a type of insurance agent. Someone must have been upset with his work and prayed to the Many Faced God for his death. He would count his coins every night, biting them to make sure they were real. She could not figure out how to kill him without killing the body guards. And then, it came to her.

One night, she announced, "He will receive the gift tomorrow." The Kindly Man took her down to the lowest level of the temple and unlocked a door. When he opened it, a thousand faces stared back at her. 

He led her over to a stool where she sat down. He studied her face for a moment before pulling a face off the wall. It was covered with scars and broken in many places. "She's hideous," said No One. There was no hint of malice in her voice or any emotion for that matter. 

"Her father used to beat her. She came here to receive the gift," said the Kindly Man. "Close your eyes," he said. "This will hurt." She did, and felt a knife slice the top of her forehead. Blood dripped down her entire face, engulfing it in red. "Do not move." 

She felt the skin go over hers and thought she was being choked. _Still as stone,_ she told herself. And then it was over.

"I do not feel any different," she said. She ran her hands over her smooth face, pausing only at the vertical scar above her right eye.

"You may not feel different but your nose is broken, half your face is caved in, and all of your teeth are missing. This face is as real as your own," he said. 

The next morning, she picked out ugly clothes for an ugly girl. They smelled of fish. She took her finger knife, the one she used to steal coins, and slipped it up her sleeve. Then she took one of the House of Black and White's iron coins, dipping it in poison. She took to the streets, following a prosperous ship owner. He was heading to get his insurance.

She slipped past, slicing his purse as she went. Gold coins filled her hand, but he noticed. "Thief!" he screamed. She dropped all the coins, adding in one of her own. She ran as fast as she could, slipping into an ally and waiting till nightfall behind stacked crates.

When the bodyguard gathered all of his coins, he would find a strange one. He would give it to the insurance collector who would bite it, tasting the poison, and die. No one would know it was her.

When she returned, they gave her her own face back. The one of a wolf. She told the Kindly Man that the insurance collector would receive the gift tomorrow. He smiled, patting her cheek. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Come, it is time you receive a new face and start your apprenticeship with Izembaro." He cupped her face, raising it to face him. "A pretty one this time. As pretty as your own," he said. "Who are you?"

"No one."


	14. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy gives the gift without permission.

She woke startled, the smell of blood filling her nose, a metallic taste in her mouth. She had dreamed she was a wolf again.

She stood up, throwing open the shutters in her room. Mercy was a happy girl. _Mercy. My name is Mercy. Tonight I'll be raped and murdered_ , she told herself.

She threw on a scratchy wool dress over her small clothes and washed her face. Mercy was a pretty girl; not beautiful, but pretty nonetheless. She locked the door of her apartment behind her. "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang as she peeled an orange with her fruit knife. The fog was very thick today as she walked through Braavos's crooked canals. She made her way to the entrance of the Gate, passing Brusco as he painted a sign for the play. He was currently painting a bloody hand underneath the words for those who could not read. 

Izembaro would play the fat king in the play, as he had a magnificent dying speech. There was another king, a cruel boy. Phario Forel had written the play. She reached the stage at the end of Izembaro's do-not-disappoint-me speech.

Then they called for her help. "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!" they whined. She scurried around, fixing dresses, finding crowns, and making costumes.

Then, the dwarf Bobono called. "Mercy! My laces are undone! My cock keeps flapping out!" She scowled, and knelt down to his level, fixing the laces. "Mercy," he sang sweetly. "Are you ready for your rape?" Bonobo played the evil dwarf who raped her. She rolled her eyes.

"That's not until the second act," she said. She played a maiden with long red hair. She watched the crowd from behind the curtains, waiting for the play to start. There was a Westerosi envoy there tonight. That was when she saw a familiar face.

 _The gods have given me a gift_ , she thought as she scanned her eyes over the four guards. The one on the end was quite handsome but twice her age. She strolled over. "My lords," she sang. "Don't you speak Braavosi?" She tilted her head up at them innocently. Although she wasn't a child anymore, she was still young and much shorter than the large men.

"Who's she?" asked the one guard in the Common Tongue. 

"One of the mummers," replied the pretty one. "Sorry, sweetling, we don’t speak your gibble-gabble," he said, giving her a quick smile.

 _Now or never_ , "I know little Common Tongue," she said, putting on a thick accent. "You are lords, no?"

They snorted. "Lords, aye," said the older one, glancing at the stage. The play was about to start.

"Izembaro said to please the lords," she said shyly, looking at the ground. "If there's anything you want?" 

"I’m Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall,” said the handsome one, grinning. 

"Not here," scowled Mercy playfully. "I know a place." She winked. "Come."

"This won't take long," said Raff the Sweetling to the other guard.

 _No, it won't_ , she thought, nearly smiling.

She lead him through Braavos's crooked streets, giggling and running ahead. She was teasing him, and would pause only long enough to catch him in sight. He was panting heavily by the time they reached her apartment. He pinned her against the wall when the door closed, kissing her. 

"Get those rags off, girl," he said roughly. 

"Mercy," she said. "My name is Mercy. Can you say it?" she asked sweetly.

"Mercy," he moaned. "My name is Raff."

"I know," she smiled. She slid her finger knife down his thigh, and blood poured out.

He looked pale, "What did you do, you bitch? Get a healer!"

She squeaked and walked backwards. "I can't get you there. He's down the canal. He won't come here."

"You'll need to carry me," he said, grunting as he pressed his hands to his thigh to stem the bleeding.

 _You know your line,_ she smiled. _And so do I._

"Carry him, he says," Weasel laughed as she stabbed him in the throat. The light went out in his eyes. "Valar Morghulis," she whispered. "Ti'han, Polliver, the Manderly's."

She carried his body down the steps and dumped him in the canal. The eels would do the rest. "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang sadly as she skipped along the bridge, making her way to the Gate. She would miss the girl. But that was a thought for later. She still had some lines to say, and she couldn't be late for her own rape. 


	15. A New Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No One dreams and makes a decision.

She spent a total of four years as a Faceless Man. But she never fully committed herself to it. She did not worship Him of Many Faces like the other acolytes, even though she pretended to. Although she did not know her own name, she wanted to know what it was, who she really was. She knew she was a wolf, but that was all. She still gave gifts of the Many Faced God but never truly became no one. She was a wolf at heart.

In between giving gifts, she awoke in the middle of the night, panting and sweating. This dream was different. She walked beneath a weirwood tree in some Godswood. The setting felt familiar and comforting. There was a steamy pool and the air was cold, colder than Braavos's. She embraced it.

A boy was sitting beneath the tree, reading a book. He had dark auburn hair that fell into his eyes and was dressed in lord's clothes. A direwolf sat next to him. This one was not like the vicious one she knew; he was quietly observing her with large golden eyes. "Hello," she said quietly. "Valar Morghulis."

He looked up, startled, unable to form worlds. He snapped the book shut. A raven landing on the branch next to him. "Westeros!" it croaked. "Westeros! Westeros! Westeros!" The raven had three eyes instead of two. She shuddered as it gazed into her soul. "Blood child! Wolf chi-" squawked and flew away as the boy stood, brushing dirt and leaves off his pants.

The boy squinted at her, cocking his head. He looked to be about sixteen years old and was slender with blue bright eyes. His eyes suddenly widened with recognition. "Ary-" he started to say before the raven attacked her, scratching her face.

She awoke with a start, panting. She rubbed her face with her hands, checking for blood. There was nothing. She lit a candle in her room, walking over to a mirror.

Ten years had passed since she first was sold to Ti'han, and those ten years showed. But she wasn't supposed to remember him; no one did not know the cruel tiger master from Meereen. She was no longer a scrawny little girl. She had grown and although she was still short, she developed womanly curves. Her dark brown hair fell in long waves to the middle of her back. She was no longer as tanned as she had been four years ago; living in the dark temple had made her pale. But her body was marred with scars from fighting in the pits. Her back, shoulder, and face were the worst. The four inch vertical scar starting from the right side of her forehead going straight down into her eyebrow was the most noticeable. She no longer covered it with her hair. The V on her shoulder was also bad, but she covered it with clothes.

Her long face had evened out and had full, pink lips; high cheekbones; and large, grey eyes. She was beautiful.

She put on her acolytes's robe, rubbing the scar on her shoulder. The thought came to her so fast that she almost felt like she had to sit; she didn't belong here. She needed to find out who that boy was, who _she_ was. The bird told her to go to Westeros. That's where she would go.

She walked down to the main room of the temple, glancing at the door. She turned before a hand could tap her shoulder. "I must go," she said sadly. "This place is not for me."

The Kindly Man smiled knowingly. "Just so, child." Although she was nearly a woman grown, he still called her child. He lead her down to the storage rooms of the temple and said, "Take what you need."

She strolled through the racks of clothes. She pulled down smooth breeches, sturdy boots, thick socks, a tunic, and a thick brown cloak. She shrugged off her robe, holding it in her hands for a moment before replacing it on the shelf. 

She quickly threw on the clothes and then headed to the part of the room that held weapons. First, she threw on a brown leather belt and strapped on one large dagger and one smaller knife. She tucked one small knife into her boot and two on each of her arms and covered them with her sleeves. She then slipped her finger-knife up her sleeve. She then gazed at the swords laying on the shelves. "I can take any," she asked, hesitantly.

The Kindly Man nodded, smiling knowingly at her.

She reached to the top shelf on her tip-toes and pulled down a sword she had admired for so long. It was a cross between a rapier and a long sword. Thicker than a rapier, but thinner than a long sword. It had a sturdy handle made of iron. And the blade was made of Valyrian steel, ripples moving across it, reflecting the candle light. Red rubies were sparkling on the hilt. She smiled as they moved. Long ago, she remembered a story about a sword called  _Dark Sister_. Queen Visenya Targaryen wielded the blade first, it's slender design made for a woman.  _You may have been called Dark Sister once. But,_ _Vengeance will be your name,_ she thought. She slipped it into a black leather sheath.

She then moved over to the table with coins and filled a large pouch with golden dragons, silver stags, and bronze stars. "Take all that you need. If you ever find yourself needing more, show the coin to bankers and say the words," said the Kindly Man. She took one iron coin of the Faceless Men, just in case. 

She followed the Kindly Man to the doors of the temple. "Thank you," she said. "You've given me all I need." 

He smiled. "Good luck, wolf child," he said with a wink. She swore that his face flashed into a skeleton, but before she could look again, the weirwood and ebony doors shut in her face. She made her way down the steps, pausing on the one that rocked.

She moved it with one hand. Underneath, sat her ring on the chain. She replaced the step and sat on it, holding the silver jewelry in her hand. She gazed into the eyes of the snarling wolf. She unclasped the necklace and pulled the ring off. She slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly. She hid the ghost of a smile on her face. _He called me Arry,_ she thought. _My name is Arry._

Arry then disappeared into the Braavosi fog, looking for a ship to take her to Westeros. "Ti'han, Polliver, the Manderlys. Valar Morghulis. Valar Morghulis. Valar Morghulis," she sang over and over again.


	16. Dreams of Lost Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks learn that Arya is alive.

**Bran POV**

Bran Stark jumped awake, startling Summer who laid at the foot of his bed. Summer swiveled his grey head around the dark room, his ears pointed upwards. "Arya," whispered Bran. He had been having vivid dreams recently, but this one was the most vivid of all. He threw off his covers and stepped onto the stone floors, warmed by the pipes running through Winterfell's walls. 

He quickly got dressed and ran to each of his siblings' rooms, pounding at the doors and yelling at them to do the same. They groaned with sleepiness but complied; when Bran was panicked, something was wrong. He waved off the guards in the hallway, telling them it was a family matter. 

He then ran to his parents room, throwing the door open and lighting a candle. Summer bounded after him. "Mother, father!" he yelled. They squinted at him, their eyes adjusting to the light. "Wake up!"

"Bran Stark!" scolded his mother. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "What is the meaning of this? It is the middle of—"

"Arya is alive," he said in a grave tone. His parents looked at him with open mouths. "We have a lot to discuss," he said, his blue eyes dead serious.

* * *

The entire Stark family sat in their father's solar, waiting for their parents to arrive. Each of the siblings had demanded Bran tell them what was going on, but he kept his mouth shut, waiting for his parents. 

Robb sat closest to the fire, his curly auburn hair mussed by sleep. He was a young man now, twenty three years old. He married three years before and was expecting his second child. His one-year-old daughter, Lyanna, was still asleep like his wife Talisa. He would rather let them sleep than wake them in the middle of the night. He met Talisa when healers from the South visited Winterfell. He had fallen in love (rumored to have bedded her first) and married her shortly after. He had grown a thick beard and was rubbing his blue eyes with sleepiness. 

Theon sat next to him, yawning and fiddling with his black hair. He was a handsome young man, lean and strong. He still had not grown out of his cockiness and Bran doubted that he ever would. He had just turned twenty five a few weeks before. Although he was not officially a Stark, he was a member of the family and was included in most meetings. He finally realized that he wouldn't return to the Iron Islands until his father died. Until then, he would be Lord Stark's ward.

Sansa lay on the couch next to Theon. Although she just had been woken up twenty minutes before, she was dressed in a beautiful blue wool dress. Her hair was brushed and fell in copper rivers down her back. At 20 years old, she was gorgeous and one of the most sought after maidens in Westeros. The Starks had a powerful family name. Willas Tyrell had won that challenge, personally visiting Winterfell a few months ago, seeking after her hand. They would marry in a couple of months.

Rickon sat on the floor next to her. He was currently wrestling with Shaggydog. The wolf was the largest out of all of them and observe them all with bright green eyes. His curly auburn hair was tangled and almost reached his shoulders. His face still covered with dirt from running around in the woods all day. Out of all of the Stark children, he was the wildest; he was even wilder than Arya used to be. Even though he was the youngest at thirteen, he gave their parents the most trouble.

Jon leaned against the wall, apart from all of them. Ghost sat silently on the floor next to him, his red eyes nearly glowing. He was the same age as Robb but could not be more different. He looked like their father, like Arya did. He had wavy brown hair and silver eyes. Ever since Arya died, he hadn't been the same. He blamed himself for losing her. Bran's mother demanded that he leave and join the Night's Watch, blaming Arya's death on him. But his father intervened and told Jon that he could not join the Night's Watch even if he wanted to. Their family would never separate again. 

All the direwolves were in the room and they took up quite a bit of space. But they went everywhere with them, ever since Arya died. It had been ten years since that fateful night. She would be eighteen by now.

His parents entered the room, dark circles under their eyes. His father had brown hair streaked with grey and somber grey eyes. His face held more wrinkles than a man his age should. He aged ten years after Arya died.

His mother stood tall next to him. Although she was still beautiful, her blue eyes radiated sadness. Her red hair was streaked with grey like Lord Stark's. She hadn't been the same since Arya died. 

They sat down in armchairs. "Tell us what you saw, Bran," quietly said his father. All of the children eagerly leaned forward.

"I dreamed I was in the Godswood," said Bran. "Reading a book. It felt normal at first. A girl walked up to me. Summer and I didn't hear her coming." He suddenly frowned, realizing what that meant. If a wolf couldn't pick up the sound of the girl's footsteps, there was something different about her.  "It was strange." He paused for a moment closing his eyes.

"She was beautiful," said Bran, smiling. He pictured her walking towards him, dressed in a long, simple robe. There was fog rolling around them and it almost looked like the robe was half black and half white. "Long brown hair, grey eyes. But her face…" he hesitated. "Her face held no emotion. Almost as if it was made of stone." He looked up at his father. "She looked like the statue of Aunt Lyanna."

His mother's eyes filled with tears. "You believe it was Arya?" she asked, no, demanded.

"Yes," said Bran. "At first, I didn't recognize her. She had a long, terrible scar, going from here," he pointed to the right side of his forehead, "Down to here." He stopped at his eyebrow.

"Just like Nymeria," whispered Jon in a haze. He was clutching Ghost's fur with his hands. Bran's mother glared at him; she blamed him for losing Arya so long ago. There was nothing Jon could have done. The wildlings had already rode off with her and Bran was terribly injured. If he had gone after her, they would have killed Bran. Instead, he pulled Bran onto his own horse and rode, the direwolves flying behind them. That was the first time Bran had warged into Summer. He tore out a man's throat, stopping him from firing an arrow into Jon's back. 

"Yes," nodded Bran. "The three eyed raven was in the dream. He said Westeros over and over again. And he called her a blood child, wolf child. That's when I realized it was her."

"Did she say anything?" assked his father. He was leaning forward, clutching his wife's hand in his own. 

Bran didn't speak for a moment. "She had an accent, but I could not place where it was from. Definitely from somewhere in Essos. It was almost like a mix of a few different ones." He looked down. "She said hello," he paused and whispered, "And Valar Morghulis."

Everyone in the room froze. "What does that mean?" asked Rickon. He spent more time with a battle axe than a book in his hand. He barely remembered Arya. 

"All men must die," said Robb solemnly. He scratched at his beard with one hand, studying Bran's face. "Are you sure it was her?"

"Yes," nodded Bran. He pushed his hair out of his face. "I can feel it." They trusted Bran about that; he once anticipated an attack on the Wall at Castle Black. He suddenly frowned. "But, she didn't recognize me at all. At all," he emphasized. 

"But your face hasn't changed much from childhood," said Sansa, confused. 

"I know," said Bran. "That is what confused me. She really didn't know who I was."

There was silence for a minute before an ember popped in the fire. "What now?" asked his mother, defeated. She had her head buried in her hands.

They all thought that Arya died years ago. After Winterfell was attacked by the wildings; Bran, Jon, and Arya split off from the others. They were attacked by a smaller group of wildlings, Arya carried away. When Nymeria tracked her scent hours later, she led them to the remains of a burning hut. When the flames finally died down, they found a small body inside. They had assumed it was her and buried her in Winterfell's crypts, building her a statue. Jon even had a small Braavosi sword placed in her hand. Although only the lords of Winterfell were supposed to gain statues, Ned made an exception. 

"We look for her," said Ned. He stood up. "And this time, we do not stop until we find her."  

* * *

 

**Ned POV**

Ned simply couldn't concentrate. He and Cat went back to sleep, he tossed and turned until the sun rose. He didn't speak all throughout breakfast. He sent away Vayon Poole a few hours later, unable to focus on doing a task as simple as balancing the household accounts. While bringing letters to send to vassal houses to Maester Luwin, the old man reminded him that Lord Damon of House Marbrand was a western house and he meant to send the raven to Lord Marlin of House Dormond. When he finally realized that he was too preoccupied to get any work done, he found himself wandering through Winterfell's halls.

Hours after Bran finished telling the family about his dream, Ned found himself standing in Arya's old room. Cat insisted that everything be left the same. He vividly remembered his wife saying, "We can't forget her." 

He ran his finger along her dresser, tracing a line through the coat of dust. Cat rarely allowed servants to come into this room. Her bed sat as she left it, unmade with presents tossed on the furs. Ned walked over, sadly smiling at the presents left on her bed. First was Rickon's drawing. It was a kind attempt at a present for a three year old, with shaky lettering on top. Next to that sat one of Bran's favorite leather bound books. He picked up the set of handsome leather breeches and jerkin. A small pair of riding boots lay one the floor. 

Near her pillow sat a neatly folded dress of grey silk. He unfolded the dress, the smooth fabric draping over his hands. It was beautifully embroidered and outlined with white lace. Cat had a southern dressmaker sew the dress for her. They all were devastated by Arya's loss. Bran grew quieter, Robb more responsible, Sansa kinder to outcasts, Rickon wilder, and Jon more somber. But his wife showed it the most. The worst day of his life was when they brought Arya's body back to Winterfell. He thought back to that terrible day.

_ Ned wondered if he overreacted by sending Cat and the children all the way to Torrhen’s Square. “It is better to be safe than sorry, my lord,” said Fat Tom, one of his best guards. “Castle Cerwyn was overrun by these beasts. Our rangers reported much higher numbers.  _

_ Much higher numbers indeed. Stark rangers reported seeing upwards of three thousand wildlings rapidly approaching WInterfell. Ned Stark worried for his wife and children’s safety and decided to send them far from the castle. If these wildlings could scale the Wall, evade the Night’s Watch, and manage to defeat Lord Cerwyn’s banner men, they were a force to be reckoned with.  _

_ Ned learned that Castle Cerwyn had not been overrun like he thought, rather only the farms around the villages were destroyed. A group of three hundred wildlings had breached the Wall. The Stark banner men were easily able to defeat the invaders. Most were killed in battle but those taken prisoner would be escorted back to Castle Black.  _

_ Ned finished executing the few wildlings left that refused to surrender, ordering their bodies to be cleaned from Winterfell’s courtyard. He handed his sword to his ward, Theon Greyjoy, and spoke with Maester Luwin. Just then, his wife flew through Winterfell’s gates, her cheeks windburned. Behind her rode the rest of the children; first Sansa, then Robb holding baby Rickon, then Bran (whose leg was bandaged), a somber looking Jon, and… _

_ He felt his heart skip a beat when he didn’t see Arya. Catelyn quickly dismounted and ran over, grasping his arms. “Please, tell me you’ve found Arya,” she said.  _

_ “What happened?” he asked. “Where is she?” _

_ Catelyn shook her head. “We never should have separated,” she cried out. “They killed Jory Cassel, Ned, and injured Bran’s leg. They rode off with Arya.”  _

_ He felt his chest tighten. “Where were you separated?” he asked Jon.  _

_ His bastard swallowed. “In the Wolfswood. Nymeria can take us to the spot,” said Jon. Ned finally noticed the wolves entering the courtyard. Nymeria was anxiously pacing and whining, half her face covered in dried blood. He slowly walked over and attempted to examine the wound, but the direwolf snapped at his hand.  _

_ “Rodrick, find twenty men that can come with me. Send out fifty others,” he ordered. Ned mounted a horse, taking Ice from Theon.  _

_ “I’m coming with you,” said Jon. “Nymeria listens to me.” Ned simply nodded, waiting for more men to arrive.  _

_ “Me too,” said Robb. He handed RIckon to his mother.  _

_ “No,” said Catelyn. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want him out there.”  _

_ “He can come, Cat,” said Ned. “They’ll be safe with me.” His wife pressed her lips into a thin line but said no more. _

_ Cat nervously wrung her fingers. “Come back quickly,” she said.  _

_ “I’ll find her, my love,” promised Ned.  _

_ Jon pulled a small glove out of his saddle back, holding it out to the anxious wolf. “Search,” he said in a stern tone. The wolf sniffed in the air before bounding off, her siblings following directly behind. Their party followed the wolves not into the Wolfswood, but along the King’s Road.  _

_ As they rode, Ned asked, “What happened?” _

_ Jon gripped his reigns tighter. “We were ambushed,” he said. “Four wildlings came out of nowhere. They killed Jory first and knocked Arya off her horse. They incapacitated Nymeria and stabbed Bran in the leg. Ghost and Summer scared them off but they took Arya with them. I wanted to follow her but Bran was bleeding out. I…I watched as they carried her away.” _

_ Ned Stark was always a man of rational thought and patience. But in that moment, he wanted to murder every wildling he could get his hands on.  _

_ “We’ll find her,” said Robb in a confident tone.  _

_ They rode in silence for the rest of the way. Nymeria led them to a smoking hut, letting out loud yelps. The direwolf tried to enter the rubble but burned her paw. Ned felt sick to his stomach, knowing he must be brave for his sons’ sake. Both Robb and Jon looked nervous, almost as if they knew what was coming. He dismounted his horse and commanded a guard to find him a large stick. He began to poke through the rubble, flipping over large pieces of timber.  _

_ An awful smell entered his nose as the stick poked something too soft to be wood. Horrified, he realized it was a body. He pushed off more and more rubble until a child’s body came into sight. A half melted direwolf pin sat on its chest.  _

_ “No!” screamed Jon, coming to the same realization. He rushed forward, only to be held back by a few guards. Tears streamed down his face. Robb stared open mouthed before doubling over and vomiting. "No, no, no! It can’t be her!” _

_ Nymeria let out a terrible howl, confirming their thoughts. It was one filled with pain and anger. Jon fell to his knees and sobbed, burying his head in his hands.  _

_ “Wrap her in a blanket,” commanded Ned in a hoarse tone. He attempted to ignore Nymeria’s howl of grief. He kneeled besides Jon and pulled him into a hug. A moment later Robb crashed into them, the three staying like that for some time.  _

_ He barely remembered the ride back to Winterfell. Only that it was extremely slow and Jon and Robb silently cried the whole way. They rode into Winterfell, handing the reigns of their horses to the waiting stable boys. Catelyn rushed down the set stairs from the balcony that overlooked the courtyard, taking one glance at Ned’s somber face to realize what was wrong. _

_ Her scream echoed throughout the courtyard. Ned had never heard such a grief stricken sound before. She pointed at Jon, her hand trembling, and said, “This is your fault. It should have been you.” _

_ “Cat,” said Ned in a soft voice. He gestured towards to guards to take her body away and bring the children to their rooms. Catelyn fell to her knees in the muddy courtyard, wailing with grief. He wrapped his arms around his wife.  _

_ The funeral preparations were a blur. They waited two days after the body was found to bury it in Winterfell’s crypts. She was buried in the tomb next to Lyanna, Ned breaking tradition once again to have a statue made in her likeness. Jon had Mikken forge a small Braavosi sword that was placed across her lap. The ceremony was short, only immediate family members in attendance.  _

_ Ned waited as one by one, his children left the crypt. First Sansa with baby Rickon, then Bran and Robb. Jon, wearing all black, slowly walked away next. Catelyn stayed a few moments longer before choking out a sob and telling Ned that she was going to pray.  _

_ Only when he was alone in the cold, silent crypt did he allow himself to cry.  _

Ned shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized he knew exactly where his wife would be. He walked down to the sept he had built for her years before, seeing her knelt beneath the statue of the Crone. 

“Are you well, my love?” he asked.

Catelyn didn’t answer for a moment, seeming to finish her prayer. She raised her head and looked around the small sept. 

“I didn’t know who to pray to. The Father already gave us justice for her death. The Mother did not show us mercy when she was taken away. If she has survived this long, what innocence will there be left for the Maiden? The Smith has already given her strength to survive. Often times when I prayed for Arya, I prayed for the Warrior to give me courage. But we don’t need courage anymore. We need answers.”

“What of the Stranger?” asked Ned.

Catelyn looked at the hooded statue. “I asked the Stranger to guide her safely to the afterlife,” she said. “But if Bran is correct, she’s alive. So here I am. Perhaps the Crone will give us some guidance.” 

“We’ll find her,” said Ned.

HIs wife only looked discouraged. “It’s been ten years, Ned. She hasn’t returned home. Maybe Bran’s dream wasn’t right,” she muttered. 

“His dreams are always right,” he said. “We’ve been given a great gift. Our daughter has returned from the dead. We can’t lose hope now.” 

Catelyn looked around the room, shaking her head at the statues. “The Seven haven’t answered my prayers for ten years. Perhaps it is time I pray to your Old Gods.” 

Ned kissed his wife’s hand as they left the sept, promising that they would find their wild daughter. 

 


	17. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry meets an old friend and some new ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's here...

She pushed through King's Landing's crowded docks, trying to find an area with less people. No one...no, Arry, hated crowds. Since she was so short, she had to stand on her tiptoes to see where she was going. _A crowd is only good for disappearing_ , she thought. 

She was happy to finally get off of the Braavosi boat but her legs were shaky from so long at sea. She took a deep breath through her nose and soon realized that was a mistake; King's Landing smelled like sewage. She almost missed the misty, fishy, crooked feeling of Braavos.

Arry had traveled all over Essos to give the gift. She killed a red priest in the red temple of Pentos. She climed the Sinner's Steps in Norvos to kill a magistar, braving a terrible winter. She even killed a warlock in the House of the Undying in Qarth, pouring Widow's Blood in his shade of the evening. But she was surprised at how different King's Landing was. The people were rude and the sun was hot; she was already starting to sweat. The architecture was impressive, as she nearly gasped when the Red Keep came into sight, the pale pink stone carved out of the cliffs. 

She took her time strolling through the streets, ignoring those who banged into her without apologizing. She found herself in Flea Bottom, wrinkling her nose at the smell of shit. While across the Narrow Sea, she always heard that the people of Westeros were much better off than Essos. She had only remembered two weeks of her time in Westeros. They were less cultured, yes, but they didn't allow slavery. But looking around at the beggars in Flea Bottom, she realized that Westeros was no better than Essos. 

Her stomach rumbled; it was time to find something to eat. She soon found herself in the Street of Flour and walked into the nicest bakery she could find. After all, she could afford anything with the money she took from the Faceless Men. "Hello?" she called out, pushing the door open. Her eyes adjusted for a moment to the darker room. 

There was a large baker standing behind the counter, his back turned. "Just a moment!" he shouted. He was currently kneading dough. She leaned against the counter, picking at her nails. 

He turned to face her and her eyes widened with recognition. She would know that face anywhere. "Hot Pie!" she shouted, leaping over the counter and pulling him into a hug. "Gods be damned, it is you!" She released him and grinned.

"Do I know you?" he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. He had grown larger since she had last seen him. He had grown a scratchy beard out and had a face that resembled a bear cub. He still hadn't grown out of his baby face. 

She punched him in the arm, still grinning wildly. "Of course you do, stupid. I'm the reason you're not in Meereen with a copper collar around your neck." 

His mouth formed a perfect "o" before he lifted her up and pulled her into a bone crushing hug. "Weasel!" he shouted. "You're alive! And you're not a slave!" 

She threw her head back and laughed. "It's been awhile," she said, smiling eagerly. The two walked around the counter and Hot Pie locked the door, flipping the sign to closed. 

He pulled out a large loaf of bread and the two sat at the table. He cut her slices and she dug in. "Weasel," he said, his brown eyes filling with tears. "I never got to say thank you."

She waved her hand, mouth filled with bread. "Don't mention it," she mumbled. "And you can call me Arry." She tore into the bread. Hot Pie was an amazing baker. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

"Ok, Arry," said Hot Pie, leaning back in his chair. "What happened to you?"She noticed that he was staring at her scar.

"I was bought by Meereen's worst slaver, Ti'han Volantis. He sent me into the fighting pits," she started, swallowing her bread. "After six years, I finally escaped. Though not before receiving this," she said as she pointed to the scar above her eye. "I lived in Braavos for a while, earning money. Once I earned enough, I came here." she lied, thankful for all of the training the House of Black and White gave her.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that," somberly said Hot Pie. "Do you have anywhere to stay? Do you have any money?"

"I'll be fine," she laughed. That was the least of her worries. "I just need to find a job."

Hot Pie suddenly smiled. "You should check at the Red Keep. I heard that they are hiring. Let's go search for an apartment. Then tonight, I'm taking you out to celebrate," he said with a smile. She followed him out the door, onto King's Landing's sunny streets.

* * *

They were able to find an apartment at a relatively good price for one bronze star a week. That was a good price for an apartment at the edge of Flea Bottom, where it was slightly less disgusting. The floors were slanted, the roof leaked a bit, and it had a strange smell, but Arry said with a smile, "I'll take it." She went shopping around the city, buying new bedding and some more clothing After all, all of the clothing the Faceless Men used were from dead bodies. Hot Pie followed her around like a lost puppy the entire day. When her cloak slipped a bit and he saw her sword, he demanded that she show it.

He gasped when he saw the Valyrian steel. "Gendry is going to have a fit!" he yelled. He told her that she would be meeting few of his friends later that evening. 

After cleaning her apartment until it was spotless, the two made their way to the Blue Inn. It was dusk and Hot Pie told her that he would walk her back to her apartment when night fell. He said that it was dangerous for a women to be walking alone in Flea Bottom at night. She nearly laughed at that notion of a city being dangerous for her. 

Hot Pie pushed open the blue door and held it, gesturing for her to walk in first. She nodded her head in thanks and pulled back the hood of her cloak. The inn was rowdy at this hour; most were done with work by this time. She saw someone wave Hot Pie over to a table in the back corner. Four men sat around it. She followed behind Hot Pie.

"Lads," yelled Hot Pie over the noise of the crowd. "I'd like you to meet Arry. She's the one who helped me escape from being sold into slavery. Arry, that's Lem Lemoncloak, Anguy, Tom of Sevenstreams, and Gendry Waters." He pointed to each man; Lem was large with a yellow cloak, Anguy had a bow strung over his shoulder and a red beard, Tom held a harp, and Gendry had black soot smeared across his face. He had wavy black hair and electric blue eyes. Judging by his build, she guessed he was the armorer's apprentice. Gendry gave her a small nod. 

"So this is the cross-dressing girl who saved your fat ass," said Lem as his eyes glanced at her chest. "She may have the name of a boy, but she sure doesn't look like one." She felt her finger knife, glaring at Lem. 

"Hey!" snapped Hot Pie as he smacked Lem in the back of the head. "Treat her with respect! She's a guardian angel, not some common whore." 

Lem rubbed the back of his head and muttered, "Sorry."

"I ought to make a song out of you," said Tom as he strummed his harp. The others groaned. "Arry, the—"

"—For the love of the gods, Tom, do not sing here! You don't want to get us kicked out again," said Anguy and he pulled Tom's harp from his grasp. "This is the only place with cheep ale."

Speaking of ale, Hot Pie and Arry sat down with two mugs placed in front of them. "So, Arry," said Lem. "What possessed you to help Hot Pie?"

She shrugged. "No one wants to be sold into slavery. I didn't want to escape alone. Before I could untie myself, the bandits noticed," she said, rubbing her scarred shoulder. "I was sold and bought but managed to escape."

"She's downplaying it!" shouted Hot Pie. He already downed his first ale and was starting a second. "She became a famous fighting slave!"

Gendry spoke for the first time. "Where were you from before that?" he asked, his blue eyes gazing into her grey ones. His dark eyebrows were furrowed down and his black hair was quite messy. She realized that she liked it. She flicked her eyes down to her drink, studying the foam.

"I don't know. The farthest back I remember is waking up in the cart," she muttered. She suddenly changed the subject. "Where do you all work?" The inn was growing more crowded by the minute, people filling in from the end of their workdays. 

"I'm a hunter for the castle," said Anguy as he gestured towards his bow. It was made of dark brown wood. "I sell my catch to the cooks." 

Lem spoke next, letting out a loud burp. "I work wherever I can find work. Mostly I unload ships at the Mud Gate." 

"I sing for coin," said Tom. "That is, if I can find people who will listen. Otherwise I find work around the city."

"I'm an armorer's apprentice," said Gendry. "I work on the Street of Steel, at Tobho Mott's shop." He rubbed soot off of his well muscled arm. "Where will you work?"

She shrugged again. "I'm sure I can find work somewhere." She suddenly pulled her sword belt off, dropping it on the table. "Hot Pie said you would want to see my sword."

He reached out and grabbed it. The rubies on the hilt sparkled with every movement. "I haven't seen a blade like this. It's too thin to be a long sword, but too thick to be a rapier." He unsheathed it, the Valyrian steel rippling in the candlelight. His mouth dropped open. "This is extraordinary work. Where did you get the coin to buy this?" he quizzed, sheathing the sword again. "Only a king could afford this."

She smiled mysteriously. "It was a gift. I am a water dancer, but have found that thicker swords take some of the sting away. This was the perfect mix." Gendry handed her back her belt and she fastened it around her small waist.

The six spent more time together, conversing about Arry's life and their own. Suddenly, people filed out of the inn one by one. "It's getting late," said Anguy, yawning.

"It's never too late!" yelled Hot Pie. He was completely drunk and swayed on his stool.

"Come on, big guy," said Lem as he helped Hot Pie up. "Let's get you home." The four men walked off together, leaving Arry and Gendry alone.

"Where do you live? I can walk you home," said Gendry. 

She smiled. "I'll be ok, Gendry. I can take care of myself."

He stubbornly shook his head. "No lady should walk around Flea Bottom alone. It's too dangerous." She smiled at his naive protectiveness. It was nice to have someone who actually cared about her. The only three people she had known in her ten years who did were Syrio, Jaqen, and the Kindly Man. Although Syrio was the only one who genuinely cared for her well being. They walked through the dark, deserted streets.

"You don't dress like a lady," said Gendry. 

"Skirts tangle when you fight," she said impassively. "And I can't wear armor in a dress. I'm not a lady," she said defensively. 

He laughed, shaking his head. "You're different, Arry." His face suddenly grew serious. "What was it like, being a slave?"

She thought back to the countless whippings and the forced killings. "Worse than you can ever imagine," she whispered. They suddenly came to her apartment building. She wished the walk was longer. "Goodnight, Gendry," she said, reaching out and brushing off some of the soot stuck on his cheek. 

His ears flushed red and her cheeks burned with the same color. "Goodnight, Arry," he said. He turned and disappeared down an alley. She smiled, realizing that King's Landing was her new favorite city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what'd you guys think? Gendry finally arrived, whoo! And Hot Pie is back! 
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos!


	18. The Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry finds a job in the Red Keep and is told she resembles a certain someone...

Arry followed the directions Hot Pie gave her the night before until she found the Red Keep. She craned her neck backwards, looking up at the towering pale pink castle. She didn't understand how one family could fill such a large building. She made her way to the gates, wearing her new boots, tunic, and breeches. She decided not to wear her breastplate or sword and instead had her finger knife up her sleeve, a dagger in her boot, and small dagger at her hip.

She smiled at the two guardsmen. She knew her smiling face could get many things from foolish men. "Hello!" She said eagerly. "Do you know where I can go to find a job?"

"I would try the Street of Silk," said one with a wink. "Maybe I'll see you there later."

She resisted the urge to slit his stupid throat. "I was told the castle was hiring," she said, this time in a more annoyed tone.

"Aye," said the older guard. "They are, sweetling. Go around the castle, to the back entrance, by the kitchen. Look for Marta." She nodded and smiled sweetly at him, saying her thanks. She stomped on the other's foot as she walked by, ignoring his curses.

She slipped through alleys and down streets, going around the entire castle. Finally, she found the kitchen entrance. She picked up a bag of flour and walked right by the guards. She dropped it and wandered around the kitchen, trying to stay out of everyone's way.

"Excuse me," she asked a baker. "Do you know where I can find Marta?" He wordlessly pointed to a large, older woman with grey. She was currently scolding two younger boys. Arry waited until she was done.

Once the two boys practically ran away, Arry interjected. "Excuse me. Are you Marta? I heard the castle was hiring," she said.

Marta scowled. "Damn Ourun, always sending the needy my way!" Arry stayed silent. "Well, what can you do?" she asked, looking at Arry with disgust.

"What?" asked Arry, startled. She hadn't expected to need a skill. All she could do was lie, change her face, and kill.

"Are you stupid, or are you deaf? I don't have all day, girl!" snapped Marta.

Arry stared at her impassively. "Good," said the older woman. "Thick skin. The Hand needs a new cupbearer. The last four all quit. You're going to need thick skin at those council meetings. Can you manage that?"

Arry gave her a wry smile. "That shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

A young boy led her up the winding staircase in the Tower of the Hand. He stopped in front of a door, nodding towards it. Marta gave her the job of cupbearer for the Hand of the King. Lord Tywin Lannister was nicknamed the old lion and the young boy told her that he preyed on lambs. But she was no lamb. She was a wolf. She knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a deep voice. She complied and entered, refusing to bow before him like Marta told her to.

"Lord Tywin," she started with a slight nod. "I am your new cupbearer." He continued to sign papers like she wasn't there. "My lord?"

"Are you just going to stand there like an idiot, or will you fill my glass?" he sarcastically asked, gesturing towards his empty cup with his quill. She complied, filling his cup half full with Arbor Gold. She stood in the corner of the room, watching him.

He suddenly stood up, staring at her. She felt oddly naked and straightened her back, staring back at him. He had greying blond hair, a neat blond beard, and calculating green eyes. He wore ornate red and gold clothes, the Hand of the King pin fitted onto his shirt. He studied her face.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked, staring at her scar.

"Not unless you're from Braavos, my lord," she said. She bit her tongue; she would hate to lose the job after just getting it (especially since it was so high paying)

To her surprise, he only looked slightly amused. "I guess you just look like a ghost," he said, studying her face. He strode to the door, throwing it open. "Are you coming, or should I serve wine at the small council meeting? Gods know I'll be fetching it the whole time; my son and the king go through enough wine at those meetings to drown a man," he muttered under his breath. He walked out the door and Arry let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

* * *

The small council meetings were at times horribly boring or unbelievably interesting. Tyrion Lannister made them the most worthwhile and Arry was sure to listen whenever he spoke. King Robert Baratheon was not at the first meeting she went to. Or second, or third, or fourth, or fifth…he "busy" and allowed Tywin Lannister to rule in his stead. 

She was a stone wall at these meetings and was sure to never show any emotion (even when they insulted her). And when things got heated, they turned their anger to the servants. Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships and the king's brother, was the worst, glaring at her the moment she walked through the door. He even yelled at her for serving wine instead of water; she calmed herself down by reminding herself that she could slit his throat or poison his wine with ease.

Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, also annoyed her to no end. He spent the entire meeting bantering with Varys or kissing Lord Tywin's ass. He made money appear from thin air but Arry was no fool; eventually the Iron Bank would figure out how much the crown actually owed them and would send Faceless Men over when the King refused to pay. 

She had no opinion about the Master of Whisperers, Varys. He was more dangerous than anyone Arry had ever met before. She had a feeling that if he wanted to find out who she was, he would be able to. He spoke in a high voice and was always impeccably clean. He wore rich robes and had soft looking skin. He looked like he hadn't worked a day in his life. 

Grand Maester Pycelle was a bumbling idiot. He also spent the meetings kissing Tywin Lannister's ass. It made her nauseous to see a fool with so much power. Although he was an above average Maester, he did not deserve his job. She had heard that he was the one who persuaded the Mad King to open the gates to Lord Tywin when Varys specifically told him that Tywin would slaughter the remaining dragons.  

The only three she could stand were the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy; the Master of Laws, Tyrion Lannister; and the Hand himself, Tywin Lannister. She had to stop herself from smiling at some of Tyrion's japes. Selmy was a kind looking old man (too old to protect the King, she thought). Although Tyrion was ugly, he seemed to be a good man. He had a sharp mind and seemed to want to do the right thing. 

What bothered her the most was to see Westeros's power in the hand of such greedy fools. None of them got along and spent most of the meetings arguing amongst themselves. They often brushed aside the commoner folks's concerns, instead focusing on their own problems, like if Prince Joffrey's nameday tourney would have a large enough prize. 

When she walked through the door on the first day behind Lord Tywin, she received many shocked looks. Barristan Selmy dropped his goblet of wine, Grand Maester Pycelle dropped his jaw, Stannis Baratheon glared, and Varys raised an eyebrow. She turned around, seeing if she was missing something behind her, but their eyes were focused on her.

"It's like I'm seeing a ghost," whispered Barristan Selmy. She was currently cleaning up his spilt wine, eyes trained on the ground. She hated attention. It reminded her of the fighting pits. 

"The resemblance is uncanny," said Pycelle. He was stroking his long beard, staring at her.

Stannis Baratheon grunted, "A ghost that started a war." He glared at her before returning his attention to his papers.

"Am I missing something?" sarcastically asked Tyrion Lannister. "Are we surprised that my father lost another cupbearer? He nearly scarred the last boy." Some of the other members snickered.

"Enough!" snapped Tywin. "We have a lot of work to go through. What is the report on the plague outbreaks in Flea Bottom?"

And the meeting progressed. However, she felt some of their eyes flicker towards her throughout. She nearly shuddered every time Varys looked at her. When the meeting finally ended, she silently followed Tywin back to his solar, filling his cup with wine whenever he waved his hand. She worked late, only leaving when Tywin dismissed her; Gendry and Hotpie always ended before her.

Weeks progressed like this. She always would spend time with her friends after, sometimes just Gendry. She grew extremely close with him and was surprised to say she was developing feelings for him. She also befriended Lord Tywin. He didn't treat her like he treated most of the other servants. She supposed it was because she was smarter than the others.

One night, he surprised her by asking a question. "What is your name, girl?" he asked.

She was taken back; he never asked any personal information. "Arry, my lord," she replied, refilling his cup with wine.

"No last name?" he asked, glancing up from his papers. He gestured for her to sit. She placed the pitcher of wine on a table and sat down, feeling uncomfortable in the plush chair. She was not used to these luxuries. "Are you a bastard?"

"No, my lord," she said, glancing at the papers at his table. "I don't know who my parents are." She forced herself to remain calm, remembering her training at the House of Black and White.

"Why is that?" quizzed Tywin, his green eyes studying her scar.

"I woke up on a slave cart in the North, my head pounding. After that, I was sold into slavery," she paused. "That's the farthest back I can remember."

There was silence for a minute. "And the scar, I assume that's from your time as a slave."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I got it when I escaped." She specifically left out the part about the fighting pits. She would keep that small detail to herself. 

He nodded thoughtfully. "The reason I am asking you all these questions, Arry, is because the king will be coming to our small council meeting tomorrow. I wanted to warn you." His eyes flickered towards her face. "You bear a resemblance to his lost love. He may act…strangely towards you."

She raised an eyebrow. "So that's why they called me a ghost."

He nodded. "Just be prepared, girl. He turned his back towards her, looking out the window. "You're dismissed for today." She stood up to walk out of the room before his voice stopped her. "And one more thing," he said as she paused in the doorway. "You say 'my lord' when addressing royalty. Only nobles speak that way. Commoners say, 'm'lord.'"

She snorted. "If I was nobility, I don't think I would be sold into slavery, _my lord_." She shut the door softly behind her, making her way down the hall.

She nearly laughed when she thought about what he said. _The King's lost love. I'm sure she was a fighting slave and a Faceless Man, too._


	19. Poison!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry fights off an assassin.

The King was not what Arry expected. He was fat, loud, and red faced. Although it was before midday, he was already drunk. She bowed low when he walked into the small council chamber, as did all of the members. They were two cupbearers for this meeting because it was expected to go much longer than usual. And Tyrion and the King needed a lot of wine. The other cupbearer was a young man with dark hair and a pale face. Arry had an uneasy feeling about him. She decided to watch him the entire meeting and was glad she had her finger knife hidden up her sleeve. 

The King didn't notice her. After she bowed, she turned to get wine and the discussions began. She was standing behind Tywin and Robert. They were currently discussing whether or not to include Meereen in their trading route. 

While the meeting progressed, she had to turn and get another pitcher of wine to fill Lord Tywin's empty cup. When she reached to fill his glass, she saw that it was already full. The wine was a slightly darker shade of purple than the one she was serving. She squinted her eyes at the other cupbearer, noticing that he was whispering under his breath. 

At the House of Black and White, they had her drink a potion that took away her hearing. She became a master of reading lips. He was mouthing, "I am so sorry."

She swiveled her head back to the wine glass as Tywin raised it to his lips. It almost looked like…

She gasped and knocked the cup out of his hands before it could reach his mouth. They jumped back in stunned silence. "Poison!" she shouted. "Lock the doors!" 

Everyone with a drink in their hand put it back on the table. Petyr Baelish ran to the heavy doors, locking them in place. She slowly walked towards the other cupbearer, slipping her knife into her hand. The nobles watched her in silence. Barristan Selmy stood in front of the king, the only one with steel in his hand. As he took a step forward towards the assassin, she held up her hand to stop him. The old man would just get in her way. 

The sorrowful man reached behind his back and pulled out a small box. He threw it on the ground and out crawled a Manticore. She glared at the assassin. "I would think a sorrowful man would use a blade to kill, not poison," she said in Qarth's common language. She had mastered the language of every city she traveled to while in service at the House of Black and White. 

He pulled out a long, jagged blade. "I would think a manticore would be able to kill even the Angel of Death," he said, smiling at her. She bared her teeth; he knew. 

She narrowed her eyes and said softly in the common tongue, "Do not move an inch. A manticore's venom is incurable." She was glad the council members were behind her. She didn't take her eyes off the iridescent green insect.

With a flick of her wrist, she threw the knife. It split the manticore directly in half. She then dove forward, tackling the sorrowful man to the ground. She grabbed his wrist, attempting to pin his arm to the ground. 

He was stronger than she anticipated. He flipped her over, smashing the hilt of the knife into her mouth. She bit her tongue, blood running down her chin. She growled with anger, trying to stop the knife from pressing down into her throat.

They were at a stalemate. He was currently sitting on top of her chest, the blade hovering three inches above her throat. She was was struggling to hold up his arms, her muscles straining with the effort. The blade moved another inch downwards. 

She managed to punch him in the nose and grabbed the body of the dead manticore, stabbing the stinger into his eye. He fell off of her, screaming and clutching his eye. She staggered upwards, grabbing onto the table for balance. She sneered at the man on the ground, him screaming in pain.

"I am so sorry," she said, wiping the blood off her chin. He suddenly went still, the screams stopping. The council chamber was silent, but Arry only heard the blood rushing through her head. The men were uneasily staring at her, not sure what to make of this scene. She crossed her arms over her chest.

The King acted first. He whispered, "Lyanna?" He took a few steps towards her before she winced, grabbing her hand.

She hissed when she saw it; when she grabbed the manticore to stab the assassin, she must have gotten stung. She suddenly felt woozy and collapsed to the ground, her vision spinning. 

"Pycelle!" roared Tywin as he knelt down besides her. 

Pycelle moved as fast as his old bones allowed and grabbed her hand, looking at the wound. She immediately realized what he was thinking. She grabbed his Maester's chain, yanking his face close to hers. 

She managed to grunt out, "If you take my hand, I'll take your head." 

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and everything went black.


	20. Stubborn Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry gets an interesting offer and starts a new phase in one of her relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!! I can't thank you all enough for the comments! You ask and I deliver...

She dreamt that she was a wolf again. It was the first wolf dream she had since she left Braavos. She was running with her smaller cousins, her feet swiftly flying over the forest floor. When she finally caught her prey, she tore into it, blood dripping down the side of her mouth. A smaller wolf tried to take a bite and she growled and snapped. Her message was clear; she was the alpha and only when she was full could the others eat. Her fur was matted and bloody like she hadn't cleaned herself in weeks.

She caught a familiar, fading scent in the air. She took of in the direction of it after throwing her head back and howling.

Arry slowly opened her eyes, her head pounding. She saw sunlight filtering through an open window. She groaned and rolled over, feeling a stabbing pain in her hand. She quickly sat up and brought her right hand in front of her face, remembering the fight that got her into this situation. The small council meeting, the sorrowful man's attempt on Tywin's life, the manticore venom...

Her hand was tightly bandaged, but it was still there. She wiggled her fingers under the bandages, sighing and falling back into the pillows. A young girl was wiping dust off of a table when she realized Arry was awake, running from the room to get the maester. Arry looked around, realizing that she was in one of the Red Keep's many rooms. It was decorated quite nicely with red and gold curtains and bedding. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pounding headache, waiting for the maester to come.

She opened them again when she heard two sets of heavy footsteps. Grand Maester Pycelle and Tywin Lannister walked in the room. "I guess you can keep your head," she said, waving her hand slightly with a sly smile on her face. 

Pycelle paled a bit. He hesitantly grabbed her hand and unwrapped the bandages. The wound was simply a scab with was no signs of infection or oozing. She flexed her fingers. "It's simply extraordinary; I've never seen someone fight off a poison as strong as that," he croaked, wrapping her hand in new bandages.

She knew it was from her training with the House of Black and White. The Waif had her drink small doses of poison every day so her body immunized to them. "I have a strong immune system," she said. 

"Do you feel any pain?" asked Pycelle as he poured her a glass of milk of the poppy. She shook her head before he could hand it to her. 

"No," she said. She hated the feeling of milk of the poppy as it made her head to cloudy. "That's not necessary." She pushed his hand away.

"You really shouldn't refuse it," said Pycelle. He was frowning at her, still holding the cloudy white liquid out. Arry could tell that he was annoyed that she refused his advice, seeing as he was the king's personal maester. 

Before she could tell him to shove it up his ass, Tywin interjected. "Enough, Pycelle. Leave us." His green eyes were studying her wound. Pycelle bowed low and left the room, shutting the door behind him. 

"You saved my life, girl. I owe you that." He sat down in a chair next her bed. As usual, he was dressed ornately in red and gold. 

"It was nothing," she said. She noticed a fly buzzing around the room. Her eyes followed it, still paying attention to what Tywin was saying.

"It wasn't nothing. Not only did you stop me from drinking the poison, you fought off an assassin," he said. He held out his hand, her wolf ring sitting in the palm. Her eyes widened. "I took it off before your hand swelled too much." Before she could reach out and take it, he closed his hand. "Why the wolf?"

She quickly snatched it from his grasp, struggling to put it on the middle finger of her left hand since her right was bandaged. Tywin watched her struggle for a moment before putting it on himself. "That's all I have from my past," she said. "Everything else was stolen." She remembered how Polliver took  _Needle_ from her. The names on her list popped into her head. _Ti'han, Polliver, the Manderlys. Valar Morghulis._

Tywin thoughtfully nodded. "I want you to be my personal guard. All the other idiots I have guarding me couldn't detect that assassin, and I sincerely doubt that they could fight him off," he said. "I would pay you, of course, and you would live in this very tower." She realized he was referring to the Tower of the Hand.

"I-I don't know what to say, my lord," she finally managed to stutter out. "Would I be allowed to wear my weapons around the castle?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course. Everywhere I go, you go," said Tywin. "You would receive personal time at night."

She thought it over. Living in the castle and getting paid golden dragons for simply watching over a lord…that was a pretty good deal. And she would receive off time. She pushed some of her hair out of her face. "Yes," she said. "I accept."

He smiled. "Good. Get well soon. I don't want another assassination attempt without you there." He stood up from his chair, dusting off his pants, and walked from the room.

* * *

She was back on her feet in a week. As soon as she was allowed out of the castle, she practically ran down to Tobho Mott's shop. Although it was night, Gendry stayed there along with the other apprentices. She climbed the hill on the Street of Steel, reaching his shop. She made her way to the back area where the apprentices slept and quietly picked the lock. She slowly pushed the door open, wincing as the door creaked. Then she made her way to Gendry's cot.

She gently pushed his shoulder and whispered, "Gendry…Gendry!" 

He jumped back, blue eyes shooting open in surprise. "Arry?" he whispered. He got out of bed, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her out of the shop. He shut the door behind them. "Where have you been? There was news of an assassination attempt on Tywin Lannister and I didn't know if—"

He was interrupted by her finger pressed to his lips. "Shhhh!" she said, rolling her eyes. "There was an attempt. I stopped it but I got stung by a manticore. I've been at the castle, recovering all week."

His mouth dropped open. "Are you alright?"

She punched his arm. "Of course I am, stupid. That's why I'm here now." Gendry was rubbing his arm, glaring at her. He had on an old pair of trousers and no shirt. His black hair was sticking up everywhere, mussed by sleep. She appreciated the view of his muscled body. "Anyway," she went on. "Tywin Lannister offered me a job as his personal guard. I took it. I start tomorrow."

Gendry frowned. "Are you sure you want to work with him?" he carefully asked, not wanting to set her off. "The royals use their guards as their attack dogs." He had seen it before with Joffrey Baratheon's guard, the Hound.

She shook her head. "I won't do any of his dirty work. Besides," she grinned. "I get to live in the castle." Her hair fell in gentle waves down her back, blowing a bit in the warm breeze.  Gendry frowned again.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I won't be seeing you a lot, then," he said glumly. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"I'll get time off at night," she said. She put her hands on her hips. "Besides. This is a well paying job."

He rolled his eyes. "Great, then. I'm sure you'll have a great time at your new rich life with the nobles," he muttered under his breath, looking at the ground. She laughed. "What's so funny?" he demanded, his blue eyes glaring at her.

Arry surprised him by going onto her tip-toes and kissing him on the lips. He opened his eyes in shock before closing them and grabbing her waist, pulling her closer to him. His body radiated with heat. They kissed for a few minutes before she broke it apart, grinning. "You're such a stubborn bull sometimes," she said. She kissed the tip of his nose and his ears turned pink. "Don't worry Gendry Waters. I'll make sure I'm around." She gave him one last kiss on the cheek before turning her back and disappearing down an alley. Gendry smiled and rubbed the spot that her lips touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too fluffy. This one was short too but the next one will be longer. Kudos/comments make me update faster...


	21. Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waiting many years, Arry gives the gift to someone who deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Kudos and comments keep me posting!

In a very short time, she knew everything there was to know about the nobles. She was with Tywin nearly all of the time; standing outside of his solar when he needed peace, watching over the royal family's dinners, standing in on small council meetings. After the third time, it lost its appeal. Sure, she could watch how the nobles interacted with each other and she heard every important order made. But it lacked a certain amount of...excitement. She supposed that was a good thing. There hadn't been any new assassination attempts. And the more time she spent with the royals, the more she hated them. 

King Robert was totally infatuated with her, staring at her whenever she was in the same room as him. She even caught him looking at her breasts; she had a boiled leather breastplate on, for the gods' sake! She forced herself not to let any emotions show around him and completely ignored his looks. But she knew she was getting quite close to her breaking point. Once, one of Ti'han's other fighters grabbed her breasts as a joke during a meal. She gouged out his eyes with a spoon. The whipping she had gotten for it was well worth it. 

Queen Cersei hated her from the moment she laid eyes on her. Arry assumed it was because the King paid more attention to a lowly guard than to his wife. Arry was supposedly the spitting image of Lyanna Stark, Robert Baratheon's dead love. Cersei voiced her opinion many times while having tea with her father of how she didn't approve of him having a female guard, how she wasn't as deadly as the male ones. Arry resisted the urge to stick a dagger through her neck to show her how deadly she was.

Prince Joffrey, oh Prince Joffrey. Whenever Arry was in the same room as him, she had to repeat over and over again, _calm as still water_. The spoiled brat knew how to push every one of her nerves. He was twenty years old but still cried to his mother whenever the Master of Arms "injured" him. The Queen and King both made matters worse; she dotted on his every wish and he ignored his every move. It almost made Arry glad that she didn't know who her parents were. 

Princess Myrcella was a sweet and beautiful thing. Many suitors from all around the seven kingdoms were already vying for her hand. Arry guessed that the King would sell her off to the highest bidder without any thought. She was happy to see that Myrcella didn't take after her mother. She had all of her beauty, but none of her ugly personality. 

Prince Tommen was also kind. He loved any type of animal and already had three loyal pets; two dogs and one cat. As kind as he was, he was weak willed and was easily influenced by everyone around him. But it was obvious to everyone that Tommen would make a better king than Joffrey. 

Jaime Lannister, a member of the Kingsguard, was always around the royal family. He was handsome and seemed to be chiseled out of gold but quite frankly, he was an ass. He made a comment to her, once, about being a female guard while they were training (Tywin allowed her to train at the castle, telling her to keep her skills sharp). She responded by knocking Ser Jaime flat on his ass.

Tyrion Lannister was the most pleasant out of all of them. He was as sharp as a sword, both intellectually and with his humor. His relationship with his father was extremely strained. Arry could practically feel the tension while standing in the same room as them.

She felt an odd sense of loyalty to Tywin Lannister. He had a deep respect for her, especially after she saved his life. He paid her well and gave her a good place to live. Although he was harsh at times, he was a good leader. 

He gave her a new cloak and offered to buy her a new set of armor; she almost accepted only because Gendry worked at Toboho Mott's shop. She refused, telling him that armor just slowed him down. She wore a black boiled leather breastplate, a simple gray tunic, pants, and black leather boots. She received new knives and wore her sword on her hip at all times. She wore a cloak like most of the other guards. The only difference was that her's was black embroidered with gold and red. Tywin gave her a solid gold lion pin to wear. 

One of the worst parts about her job were the other guards. The two she hated the most were the Clegane brothers. She nearly took off the Mountain's head after he insulted her. The Hound was just as bad and to make matters worse, he was Joffrey's attack dog. She also hated Meryn Trant and Ilyn Payne. None of the other guards respected her. As much as she hated it, it was a good thing. If there was ever a need to fight any of them, they would all underestimate her.

Life went on, as uncomfortable as it was. Her favorite part of every day was when Tywin dismissed her. She could see Gendry after that. She spent most of her nights with him. He had recently gotten an apartment which made things…simpler. It was easier than trying to sneak him into the castle. Sometimes, she only came back to her quarters at dawn, climbing up a vine growing outside her window.

She continued to chant her list of names every night. _Ti'han, Polliver, the Manderlys…Valar Morghulis._ A stroke of luck came when the Wyman Manderly came south to visit from White Harbor.

She was standing in the throne room, eagerly awaiting his arrival. She had heard about it a month before and the day finally came. Wyman was not what she expected to see; he was fatter than King Robert and needed to be carried into the castle on a pulpit. He was an amiable man with fingers as big as sausages. She looked forward to killing him.

After the formality of arriving in the Throne room, they sat down for a large feast. Wyman sat next to the King, laughing and joking. Because of her position, she was easily able to read his lips and keep an eye on poison at the same time.

They were currently discussing the Starks. The King and Eddard Stark used to be the best of friends while they were wards of Jon Arryn. The two had started and finished a rebellion together. However, the Starks had not visited the South in the past ten years because the King and the Warden of the North had a rocky relationship. Although the King was blatantly telling Wyman how angry he still was at Lord Stark, Arry could tell that he missed him. 

After the feast was over and Tywin dismissed her for the night, she changed into a plain servant's dress she had stolen from the laundry room. She stashed her regular clothes in a small storage closet in an emptier wing of the castle; she would change after she was finished. She sat down in the closet for a good hour, trying to remember how to change her face. For a while, she was worried that she had lost the ability. But like riding a horse, it came back to her. She changed into a plain-looking girl's face with blonde hair and made her way to the castle's grounds. She snuck around and climbed the tower he was staying in; the guest room's were easier to sneak into because they had a blind spot from the guard towers's views.

She scaled the wall like a lemur, clutching onto the sturdy bricks and vines that grew along it. At one point, she had to leap from one spot to another, landing silently on his balcony. She quietly pushed opened the door, slowly so it would not creak. 

She slid inside, her feet making no noise. She stood over him, watching him while he slept. He was a sad looking man; he was so enormous that he took up nearly the entire bed. She almost hesitated killing him; after all, she was trying to avoid her past, not embrace it. But then she remembered the scars she would bear for the rest of her life because of him. She remembered the pain and suffering she went through, what thousands had gone through because of him. She gritted her teeth, fingering the vial of poison tucked into the folds of her dress.

She stood by the side of the bed, watching him sleep. He was snoring loudly, mouth wide open. She held to poison over his mouth and dropped three drops of Widow's Blood onto his tongue. This deadly poison that she took from the House of Black and White forced a man's bladder and bowels to fail. It would cause a painful, long death. Wyman Manderly deserved it for allowing the slave trade to go on in his harbor.

She slowly climbed onto the balcony, scaling back down the wall. She made her way to her room, shoving the vial of poison in a loose brick along the wall on the way. She burned the dress when she reached her room and left on her small clothes, climbing into bed. When she whispered the two names she had left, "Ti'han. Polliver. Valar morghulis." She couldn't help but to feel a bit dirty inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you guys think of the episode tonight?? Kind of sad.


	22. The Wolf, the Bull, the Lion, and the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that Arry has managed to build for herself comes crumbling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starks are coming soon!

Arry sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She was quickly walking down the cobbled streets of King's Landing. She had more free time today because Tywin had let her go early, muttering something about attempting to "have an intelligent conversation with Robert." Wyman Manderly had left the castle that morning, showing no signs of the poison yet. Widow's Blood took a few days to set in. There would be no link to her once he died. She smiled slightly,The sun was setting behind the buildings that were nearly touching each other from across the street. She was about to meet Gendry for a drink at the Blue Inn. She was taking a shortcut through King's Landing's streets. She had the hood of her cloak up and her head was facing downwards. She hated when the men catcalled her and tried to avoid it at any cost. Besides, most had stopped after she cut the tongue out of a man who had been especially rude. 

While cutting thorough an ally, she heard a boy pleading in front of her. She quickened her pace to a jog. "Mercy, m'lord!" He was crying. "Mercy, please," he begged. 

When she came out of the ally and onto one of the larger streets, she saw a small crowd gathered in front of her. Prince Joffrey, a few Gold Cloaks, and his guard dog, the Hound, were standing in front of a rather pathetic looking boy. He had bright red hair, a round face, and freckles. He wore a butcher's apron and was on his knees, begging Joffrey to stop. Blood was dripping down the side of his head were he had a terrible gash. "Address me properly!" Hissed Joffrey. He had his sword, _Lion's Tooth_ (stupid name, if you asked her), out and was waving it around. "It's your highness!" 

The Hound stood a few feet away from him, hands folded across his arms. He was watching the scene with a frown strewed across his burned face. Apparently the boy had said something else that Joffrey didn't like because he hit him with the hilt of his sword. The red head was knocked down, crying even harder.

Arry broke into a sprint; a larger crowd had gathered. "Enough, Prince Joffrey!" She snapped, coming in between him and the boy. She turned to look at the mess on the ground and frowned. She said softly, "Go home now, boy." He nodded and stumbled to his feet, sadly limping away.

Joffrey had his mouth wide open. "You're ordering me around—your future King!" He screeched. A vein was popping out of the side of his neck and his face was turning red with anger and embarrassment. 

Arry took a step forward, lowering the hood of her cloak. "The whole city is watching, Prince Joffrey. They're going to see you, their future king, murdering a young boy in the streets. How do you think they'll react?" She asked sarcastically. Her face twisted into a frown again. "Do you think they'll feel that they are in good hands? Go back to your castle."

Joffrey sneered at her, his puffy lips stretched across his face. Many maids thought he was very handsome with his wavy blond hair and bright green eyes. But Arry knew how ugly he was. Joffrey letting out a terrible screech and wildly swinging _Lion's Tooth_ at her. She ducked, the sword swinging six inches above her head. It was almost embarrassing how terrible Joffrey was at sword fighting. She kicked her leg out, knocking Joffrey to the ground. She then put her hand on the hilt of her sword, _Vengeance_. "Go. Home. Now." She said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep her anger under control.

The Hound stepped forward. "I know who you are. You're Tywin Lannister's bitch," grinned the Hound. The guards took an uneasy step back, recognizing at once who she was. "Back away from the prince," he said. He had pulled out his own large sword and was advancing on her. The other Gold Cloaks had also pulled out their swords. 

She pulled out her sword, hearing the satisfying hiss. A few of the commoners gasped at the sight of the Valyrian steel. "Take the prince home, Hound," she said, mocking him. She tensed, waiting for him to strike first.

He swung his sword at her. He was very fast for such a large man. She spun away and gave a quick few jabs back to him. He fought like a typical Westerosi soldier; she was dancing her water dance. They continued to parry at each other, both equally matched. She landed a few cuts that the Hound was too slow to dodge.  _All men are filled with water_ , once said Syrio.  _Poke enough holes in him, and he will die._

She head a commotion behind her and turned to see Joffrey, standing up again, sword in his hand. He was swinging it at her. There was no way to avoid his blow; her sword was locked together with the Hound's. Her eyes widened in shock before a large shape moved forward in a blur, tackling Joffrey to the ground. She managed to free her sword and took a few quick steps back, regaining her breath. 

She watched as the Gold Cloaks pulled the fighting figure off Joffrey and whispered, "No," when she saw who her savior was. They punched him a few times before she yelled, "Stop!" It was Gendry. He must have been watching the scene from the crowd. His jaw was horribly bruised and his nose gushing blood. He was held back by two Gold Cloaks. Joffrey was on the ground, moaning about a bruised wrist. She stood, sword gripped in hand, panting and surveying the scene in front of her. 

Three more Gold Cloaks and the Hound advanced on her. She knew she could fight them but feared Joffrey would kill Gendry. She dropped her sword and it clattered on the ground in front of her. "I yield," she said calmly, standing tall and proud. 

The Gold Cloaks looked unsure. By her black cloak and lion pin, they knew she was Tywin Lannister's deadly guard. She held out her wrists, allowing them to bind them in front of her. Two uneasily took a grip of each of her arms. She held her head high, haughtily walking to the castle. Gendry was dragged behind her and Joffrey and the Hound behind him. With this strange procession, they were taken to the castle to discover their fate.

* * *

The doors of the throne room were thrown open, Joffrey and the Hound in the lead. The castle must have gotten news of this ordeal quickly because the whole small council was there along with Cersei and, of course, the King. Robert was slumped in the Iron Throne, crown crooked on his head. He straightened when he saw them enter.

Cersei was sitting next to him in a large, cushioned chair. She looked as polished as ever, her blonde hair fixed into an ornate southern hairstyle. Arry didn't understand their strange fashion sense. She wore a beautiful gown made of red and gold silk. She glared when she saw Arry enter the room. 

Joffrey made his way to his mother's side. She was fretting over his bruised wrist. Arry noticed that the Hound had slipped out of the room. Gendry and Arry were forced to their knees in front of the thrones. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that one of the Gold Cloaks standing near her was holding her sword.  _I could grab it_ , she thought.  _I would move faster than the guards could, slashing their throats out before they knew what hit them. Then I could kill Joffrey and the Hound and his bitch of a mother, watching them die by my hand_. She smiled slightly at that thought.  _No, Arry_ , she told herself.  _You need to handle this peacefully. Besides, if all else fails, then you can slash out their throats._

She whispered to Gendry, "Just stay quiet and let me handle this." He nodded, his face pale and bloody. His black hair was sticking up everywhere.

"Joffrey. Speak," commanded the King, staring in her direction. Tywin and the rest of the small council also noticed that it was her.

Joffrey fabricated a whole story of how the butcher boy (named Mycah, she quickly found out) had thrown an insult his way and how he was trying to punish him. He claimed that it was a light punishment. He whined about how Arry had pushed him down (purposely leaving out the part about him trying to kill her) and how Gendry had attacked him afterwards. 

She stayed silent the entire time. "Is that all?" Asked the King after Joffrey had finished speaking. Joffrey nodded. "Girl?" Asked King Robert.

"Your son is a liar, your majesty," said Arry calmly, looking the King directly in the eye. His stormy blue eyes looked familiar. 

"Bitch!" Screamed Joffrey, his face once again turning red.

"Joffrey!" Snapped Tywin. "If you keep acting like a child, you'll be treated like one." Joffrey shut his mouth and pouted, cradling his wrist towards his chest. Robert gestured for her to speak again.

"I arrived to see your son threatening the boy in front of a large crowd. If they saw their future king in this light, threatening a young boy," she said, pausing to chose her next words carefully, "Then they may react violently. I told him that he had punished the boy enough and that he should leave. He tried to kill me, swinging his sword at my neck. In self defense, I knocked him down. I only pulled out my steel when the Hound attacked me. When I had my back turned, your son tried to kill me again. Gendry," she said, gesturing towards him with her tied hands, "stopped him." She stopped speaking, watching the King's reaction.

"You know the boy?" Asked Tywin, carefully studying her face.

"He's a friend," she said calmly.

Cersei spoke. "The girl must be punished. She laid her hands on the heir to the throne, your heir, Robert. If you have any sense at all you'll-"

"I'LL WHAT, CERSEI?" Bellowed Robert, rising from the throne. "HAVE HER WHIPPED THROUGH THE STREETS? BEHEADED? " He yelled, pacing up and down the marbled floors. He flopped on the throne again. "It's over," he said. "Joffrey should know better than to terrorize the small folk. She taught him a much needed lesson." Arry frowned. This treatment was…unusual. Kings usually killed those who touched their heir's. Unless…the King was only doing this because she reminded him of his lost love, Lyanna Stark. "Let her go," he said. 

A Gold Cloak stepped forward, cutting the ropes on her hands and handing her back her sword. She slipped _Vengeance_ back into its sheath and rose to her feet. 

Cersei was glaring at her, anger evident on her face. She had figured out why Robert had pardoned her, too. "What about the boy?" She asked quietly. "He nearly killed Joffrey."

Robert rose from his throne, gazing at Gendry sadly. "Do what you want, woman." He said, turning his back to leave the room. 

Arry felt her heart stop. They would kill Gendry! "Please, King Robert, allow him to live. He only was protecting me. He's not guilty of-" she said. 

He turned, raging, "Enough! My decisions are final." The rest of the small council along with Tywin stood to leave the room. Tyrion Lannister shot her a look filled with pity. 

"Lord Tywin," she said, nearly begging at this point. Anxiety was creeping up, tightening her chest. "I risked my life for yours. Please, allow him to live." 

Tywin gazed at her impassively with is bright green eyes. "It isn't my decision to make."

She felt her eye twitch and was trembling in anger. She strode over, dropping back down to her knees and whispering in Gendry's ear. "Request trial by combat," she said, glaring at Cersei and the others. Cersei had a smug look on her ageless face, smiling like she had won the battle. "Trust me," she said when Gendry shot her an incredulous look.

"I request trial by combat!" He yelled. He cleared his throat awkwardly after that. "At least I think I do," he muttered stubbornly under his breath. Everyone stopped in their tracks; no one was foolish enough to ask for trial by combat, let alone a peasant with no fighting skills or money.

"So be it," said Tywin, watching Arry with his cold green eyes. She rose to her feet, trembling with anger. Without breaking eye contact with Tywin, she ripped her cloak off, throwing both it and the pin on the ground. The golden lion clattered to a stop in front of his feet. He looked at her, unimpressed with this show of defiance. 

"I won't be needing that any longer, Lord Tywin," she hissed. 

Before she could turn and leave the room, the Hound walked back in, a bloody lump wrapped in a blanket thrown over his shoulder. He threw it on the ground in front of her and Gendry. The Hound lifted the corner of the blanket to reveal Mycah's open, dead eyes and bloody face. Joffrey smiled cruelly. 

She bit her lip, forcing back anger. She had three new enemies on her list. _Ti'han, Polliver, the Hound, Joffrey, Cersei._

_Valar morghulis._


	23. Other Ways to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry crosses off another name from her list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of tonight's finale:

Arry stood next to Gendry, her arms folded across her armored chest. Her long braid was tucked back into her shirt; in the fighting pits, men used everything to their advantage. She used to cut her hair so they couldn't grab it. Now, she found it too much of a hassle to cut it every few months. She was wearing her boiled leather breastplate and was armed to the teeth with every single blade she had in her possession. Of course, _Vengeance_ sat at her right hip. They were in a crowded plaza in King's Landing, waiting for Gendry's trial by combat to commence. Although he was only a peasant, the plaza was packed with people sitting in the stands. The royal family sat on a large dais. 

"Arry!" Furiously whispered Gendry. He had chains around his wrists and had his brow furrowed in worry. Gendry looked exhausted, dark rings under his eyes and blood still flecked under his nose. She realized he probably wasn't focusing on his appearance. Especially since he had just spent the night in the Black Cells. "Who did you find to be my champion?"

She looked at him blankly; she assumed that he realized _she_ would be fighting as his champion. As she opened her mouth to respond, the High Septon stepped forward, raising his crystal ball. She snapped it shut and sighed softly with relief. At least she didn't have to explain it to him. 

He droned on for a few minutes, muttering prayers and blessings before King Robert slammed his fist down on the side of his chair. "Start the damn trial before I piss myself in boredom!" He bellowed.

The High Septon flinched before speeding up the end of the speech. "Queen Cersei, your champion…" he said, waiting for the man she chose to step forward. 

Arry tensed and prayed the Queen didn't pick the Mountain. "Ser Polliver, please step forward," sweetly said Cersei, smiling at one of her Red Cloaks. He nodded and stepped forward, pulling off his helm. A small smile crept onto her lips. _Another name to cross off my list_ , she thought. Age hadn't suited Polliver well; his face was ordained with wrinkles. He wore heavy armor and had a large sword strapped to his hip. Sitting next to it, was another smaller Braavosi blade. _Needle_ …

"And you, Gendry…" said the High Septon. Everyone watched to see who Gendry had found to be his champion. Before he could respond, she stepped forward. 

The crowd murmured. "A woman!" scoffed the High Septon. "The Gods do not allow-"

"I don't follow your Gods," she snapped, locking eyes with Polliver. "The only god that I follow is Death. You'll be seeing him soon," she grinned wolfishly. Polliver tensed and swallowed, probably regretting his decision.

"May the Gods decide your fate!" Finished the High Septon in a squeaky voice, quickly walking off the plaza center before the trial started. A bell sounded, and the two of them walked to the plaza's center to start the fight.

She felt like a fighting slave again, amuse others with bloodshed. She felt everyone's eyes following her. At the dais, the royal family sat with different expressions. Tommen and Myrcella looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. Ser Pounce sat on Tommen's lap, his hands grabbing at the poor cat's fur. Joffrey sat forward on his seat, eager to watch the bloodshed start. His puffy lips stretched across his face showing a gruesome grin. Cersei sat next to him, looking quite eager for her to die. King Robert sat clenching his wineglass, watching with a sort of sadness. And Tywin Lannister sat on the edge of the platform, looking as expressionless as ever.

But this time was different. She _wanted_ to kill the man standing across from her. She couldn't wait to see his blood pooled across the stones of the plaza, his eyes glazed over with death. Polliver already had his sword out and was striding towards her. She stood still, waiting for him to approach.

She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword, not moving. When he raised his hand to swing his sword, she heard murmers from the crowd. They assumed she was trying to die. At the last second, she pulled out _Vengeance_  and chopped off his hand at the wrist. She sheathed her sword a millisecond later. So fast, in fact, that Polliver's hand hadn't even started bleeding yet. A few women from the crowd screamed. 

He screamed in pain, falling to his knees, blood shooting out of the stump. The sword, still wrapped into his hand, clattered to the ground. She kicked it away and reached down, pulling out _Needle_ from his belt. She closed her eyes, gripping the hilt. The sword was small, much too small to be of any use to her. It was like a child's toy. But it could still kill.

"It's been a long time since I've seen this blade, Polliver," she said. Polliver was still screaming, clutching his stump with his other hand, trying to stop the bleeding. "Or perhaps I should call you 'ser'," she said mockingly. She suddenly frowned. "You don't remember me." She tsked, shaking her head slightly. "I guess I look a little different." 

Polliver was looking at her with terrified eyes. "Are you going to kill me?" He whispered.

"I promise I won't open your throat if you admit to them," she said, gesturing at the crowd with _Needle_ , "All of your crimes. Your participation in the slave trade, how you sold children to Meereen's highest bidders—I was one of them, you know. You sold me to Ti'han Volantes," she hissed. "Your operation normally picked boys, but you and Raff the Sweetling made a mistake," she said.

He squinted before his eyes widened with recognition. "Weasel," he said. 

"That's right. I killed him, you know," she nodded, pointing Needle at his throat. She lowered her voice to a whisper so the crowd could not hear her. "Dumped his body in a canal in Braavos so the eels could eat him. Go on."

"I-I used to sell children to Meereenese slavers," he said, his voice growing louder when she poked  _Needle_ a bit further into his neck. Blood began to trickle down his neck. 

"How many did you kill?" She asked with a whisper, glaring at him with her gray eyes.

"I…I can't remember…a lot!" He said quickly, panicking.

"Good," she said sweetly, tucking _Needle_ into her belt. She took a step away from Polliver, glaring at the dais. "This is what goes on in your kingdom!" She declared, hands on her hips. "You knight those who murder innocent children, sell them to those who make them to terrible, terrible things. And the nobles, you sit in your castle, getting drunk and fat, not caring about what happens to those below you. You step on anyone in your path who threatens your power." She made eye contact with everyone sitting on the dais, stopping to glare at Cersei the longest. She turned back to Polliver. 

"The trial doesn't end until one of us dies or they call for mercy. And I don't think the Queen is going to give you any mercy," she said, glancing at Cersei. She was clutching a glass of wine, her knuckles turning white with anger. "But, I promised not to open your throat, correct?" She asked. The plaza had grown so quiet that her voice carried over into the street.

He nodded, face pale from blood loss. He looked slightly relieved.

"There are other ways to die," she said quietly before lunging forward, grabbing his head. She twisted it sharply to the side, snapping his neck with her bare hands. "Valar morghulis," she whispered to herself.

The plaza was so quiet that her feet made sounds on the stone as she walked back to Gendry. He refused to look at her and instead focused on Polliver's dead body, eyes wide open in shock. He only took his eyes off it when they unlocked his chains, the High Septon proclaiming his innocence. 

When he finally made eye contact with her, _he_ looked like he was sorry for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...a lot of you thought it was going to be the Mountain. I wanted to include Polliver because he was a Lannister soldier. He could have worked his way up to be Cersei's knight. Thanks for all of your support! Comments and kudos make me post faster!


	24. Liar, Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin regrets his actions. Arry tells the truth.

**Tywin POV**

Although Tywin Lannister would never, ever, admit it, he had grown to like the girl. She was intelligent, brave, and assertive; she combined all of the strengths his children had without their faults. He thought of her like the daughter he never had (Cersei, of course, was impossible to deal with) and he had driven her away. She had risked her life for his own and when she asked for his help, he turned his back to her. He couldn't help that boy even if he wanted to because he was Robert Baratheon's bastard. It would be an insult to his family. Varys had told him a couple of weeks before. The boy was the spitting image of Robert at a young age, before he got fat.

It was eerie to see the girl, Arry, and the boy, Gendry, next to one another. It was almost like seeing Robert and Lyanna together again. But Arry had that terrible scar across her forehead and refused to wear anything except trousers. He was sure that the girl could be a Stark. The long face, dark brown hair, and gray eyes all pointed to a Stark. He had even asked Varys if it was possible. Varys told him that unless the honorable Ned Stark had  _two_ bastards, that it was impossible. There were five legitimate Stark children. Well, four; the youngest daughter had died ten years before when Winterfell was attacked by bandits. 

If he was standing close to her in the throne room, he was sure she would have spit at him. Throwing her lion pin and cloak on the ground was enough of a show. He had never seen such pure anger on someone's face. Her gray eyes were on fire, glaring at him, Cersei, and the King. He couldn't blame her.

Her actions weren't necessarily wrong; although she knocked Joffrey down, she did stop him from murdering a boy in cold blood in front of a large crowd in King's Landing. There had been whispers among the small folk that Joffrey was not fit to rule (even about his true lineage...); this could have solidified that fact. She only touched him when he tried to kill her.

The blacksmith obviously had feelings for her. He had attacked a prince, for the Gods' sake. They could have both been killed for touching royal blood. But Robert would never harm the girl because she looked so much like Lyanna. Cersei had wanted someone to die for touching her "angel" and she wanted to get back at Arry. Killing the boy was revenge for both. 

During the trial by combat, she had killed one of Cersei's knights so fast that his head nearly spun. She moved in a blur, chopping off his hand and then stealing his sword. The crowd could hear every word that she said. That man, Ser Polliver, had been one of the men who sold her into slavery. She accused the King of knowing of it. Of course, everyone knew about it. They just refused to spend time, money, and resources stopping it. The slave trade was common. Ned Stark tried to prevent it where he could but it went on for years in White Harbor before he completely shut it down. She ruthlessly killed the man with her bare hands. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Tywin sat in a small council meeting, thinking all of this over. He was barely paying attention to what was being discussed. Varys was discussing some of the whispers he had heard, of an invasion by Meereen's slavers who wanted to take the Iron Throne. He said that nothing was legitimate, but they should strengthen the harbor. Tywin sat in his chair next the King, resting his head on his fist.

Littlefinger suddenly changed the topic. "Whispers, Spider, only whispers. You know nothing for fact. One thing that we do know is the Starks are visiting from Winterfell. They'll be here in about a month. The eldest and the youngest are staying to rule at Winterfell. Their daughter is getting married to Willas Tyrell, down in Highgarden. On the way, they'll be stopping in King's Landing," he said, smiling probably at the fact that he would be seeing Catelyn Stark again.

Tywin straightened in his chair; it had been years since any of the Starks had left Winterfell. Ten years before, Robert had asked Ned to rule as his Hand. It was right after the attack on Winterfell. Half the castle had been destroyed. Ned blatantly refused, writing to Robert, explaining that he had just lost a daughter and that his family needed to be together. Robert was furious with him, and the two hadn't spoken since. Robert chose Tywin to be his Hand shortly after that. 

Stannis Baratheon grunted. "The Starks are finally leaving that wasteland?" He asked.

"I visited once," started Tyrion. Tywin rolled his eyes. "It's not too bad; plenty of whores and wine. Very cold, and the Stark children's direwolves are terrifying."

"Make sure there's a large welcome," said Robert, stroking his beard. "Ned's an old friend."

* * *

**Arry POV**

She lay in Gendry's bed on her stomach. He was softly tracing the whipping scars on her bare back. They were in his apartment; he had found a rare amount of time off from work. They took advantage of it. He was furious with her for about a week after the trial. Stubborn, like a bull, he refused to hear her side of the story. He was angry to have a woman fighting for him, but Polliver was her's to kill. He saved her life, she returned the favor. 

"How'd you get those?" He asked softly. She rolled over onto her back, covering her chest with the sheets. His electric blue eyes were studying her face. "How'd you get all your scars?" He asked. 

She bit her lip, and then spoke. "I was sold into slavery ten years ago to a man named Ti'han Volantes. Polliver, the knight I killed, was one of the men who sold me. For my first year, I trained with the first sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel. He taught me water dancing." She stopped, burying her head in her hands. "But Ti'han killed him and then forced me to go into the fighting pits of Meereen. The slavers like to watch while slaves are forced to kill each other for entertainment." She pointed to the horrible burned "V" on her shoulder. "Ti'han Volantes is a horrible man. He is one of the richest slavers in Meereen. He burned this mark himself onto me, showing me that I was his property." She pointed to scars on her arms, legs, stomach, and back. "I got those in the pits." She gestured to her terribly scarred back. "I got those when I didn't listen," she whispered. "It happened a lot. The day I escaped, I refused to kill two children. Ti'han attacked me, and gave me this," she pointed to the scar above her eyebrow.

Gendry put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Arry." His hands were calloused and rough, like hers.

"That's not all," she said quietly. "Do you know who the Faceless men are?" She asked Gendry, studying his face.

"No," he said, ears reddening in embarrassment. 

"They're assassins in Braavos who can change their face," she said. Gendry frowned. "I met one, while I was a slave. He allowed me to say three names. He would kill them. I used two, but for my third..." she trailed off, swallowing before continuing. "I made him help me escape. He gave me a coin, and told me to go to Braavos."

She took a deep breath and continued. She was sworn to secrecy. But she didn't want to lie anymore. 

"I arrived at the House of Black and White, and said the words, valar morghulis," she said, stopping and looking him directly in the eye. "It means 'all men must die'. I was a Faceless Man for four years. I've killed a lot of people, Gendry. More than I can remember." She stopped speaking when tears began to roll down her face in shame. "I didn't want to kill them! Not the good ones. But the bad ones, a lot deserved to die."

She wrapped her arms around Gendry's neck and he started to rub her back. She began sobbing uncontrollably on his shoulder. "It's alright, Arry. You don't have to kill anymore."

Even with that reassurance, she thought back to the names on her list.  _Ti'han, Cersei, Joffrey, the Hound. Valar morghulis._

No, Gendry was wrong. She would always be a killer, and no amount of crying would stop that. 


	25. The Merciful Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks arrive in King's Landing and hear about a familiar girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter. Sorry if it feels rushed (I like writing from Arya's POV better).

**Ned POV**

After a month of traveling with a rather large party, they finally arrived at King's Landing. They were met at the large gates by Gold Cloaks. At first, they tried to refuse letting in Sansa's and Bran's direwolves, saying they were ordered by the Queen. They finally relented when Catelyn refused to allow them to enter the city. Catelyn wanted the direwolves to travel everywhere with the children, after that night. She believed that it Nymeria was able to stay with Arya, she never would have been killed.

Ned thought of Nymeria. While traveling along the King's Road, they had heard rumors of a giant she wolf traveling through the Riverlands, the size of a pony. There was an abnormal number of wolves in the woods. Their howling kept them up every night. One of those nights, both direwolves left. They came back the next morning, snouts covered with blood. Catelyn was worried sick when the disappeared and demanded that Ned strengthen the guards around the children's tents.

Cat was a mess ever since they found Arya's burned body. They knew it was her because her silver wolf pin was found on the body. He would never forget Catelyn's wails of grief when he, Jon, and Robb walked through Winterfell's gates, Jon carrying her body wrapped in a blanket. Cat had blamed Jon for her death, blamed him for not protecting her. And Jon blamed himself just as much. Jory Cassel had died in the attack, Jon and Bran escaping after they carried her off. 

Jon stayed to rule Winterfell with Robb and Rickon. Although Ned hated splitting up his family, a Stark must always remain in Winterfell. And he would never miss Sansa's wedding. Sansa had grown and was one of the most beautiful maids in Westeros. Many men had courted her, but Ned trusted Willas Tyrell the most. He was a good man and didn't care about strengthening his power (although many from his house did). Sansa had grown up, not at all troubled by his limp. 

As they traveled through King's Landing's streets, Ned noticed how run down and poor the city looked. Homeless people everywhere, drunken men, whores, and waste clogged the crowded streets. Cat and Sansa turned their nose up at the filth. The Gold Cloaks took a slightly longer way to the Red Keep, trying to avoid the worst of Flea Bottom. He also noticed many abnormal men walking through the streets. They were exotic looking, probably from Essos, and wore swords on their hips. He had heard that it was tough to find work across the Narrow Sea, many people immigrating to find better opportunities in Westeros.  He felt  _Ice_ on his back and was reassured by the Gold Cloaks walking next to his party.

They were escorted to the Red Keep and were given time to change their clothes before greeting the King. Sansa took the longest to change, nearly bouncing in excitement to meet the Queen. The wolves acted strangely, wining and howling when they entered certain areas of the castle.

Finally, the were led into the Throne room. Robert had it redecorated, pulling the dragon heads out. He had hoped he did not have them crushed into powder like he said he would. Robert was slumped on the Iron Throne, a golden crown crooked on his head. His family and the Small Council stood on the steps below him. After bowing, he noticed how fat Robert had gotten. He hoped Robert still wasn't angry at him for refusing the position of the Hand. It was right after Arya had died, and Ned didn't want any of his family leaving the castle.

Cersei, of course, looked as beautiful as ever. She was dressed in a beautiful red gown and had her hair done in some ornate southern style. Sansa absolutely adored Cersei the moment she laid eyes on her. Catelyn saw through Cersei's fake demeanor, and exchanged polite (but tense) greetings. The children stood next to her, golden haired and green eyed. The Kingslayer stood next to Cersei, a cocky grin on his face. 

Tywin Lannister stood behind them all. Ned nearly bared his teeth when he saw him. He hated that man ever since the day he had brutally murdered the Targaryen children. 

The rest of the Small Council stood by, greeting his family. The direwolves acted strange, whining and growling when Cersei or the eldest boy, Joffrey, came near. Summer nearly snapped at Joffrey's hand. Even Lady, the well-behaved wolf, growled at them. Ned thought it might have been a mistake stopping at King's Landing.

After meeting them, Ned spoke with Robert a bit further apart from everyone else. They laughed and joked together about old times. Ned almost felt like nothing had changed between them. Robert said, "Your children have grown, Ned. But all have the Tully look, red hair and blue eyes. None have the Stark look."

Ned's face grew long. "Aye," he said quietly. "One did. My youngest daughter, Arya. She passed on years ago." He sighed, looking at the ground. "She was just like Lyanna."

Robert patted his shoulder. "I heard she died. I'm sorry, Ned. Just like Lyanna, you said?" He asked casually, stroking his beard. "That's funny. There was an extraordinary girl here, a few weeks ago. I swear to the Gods, Ned, new and old, that she was Lyanna. Tywin!" He yelled, waving the Lion over. Those scattered throughout the room glanced at Robert with embarrassment. Ned grimaced. Tywin walked over slowly, studying Ned with his green eyes. "I was just telling Ned about that girl, the one that looked like Lyanna. Your guard."

Tywin frowned. "Not anymore," he said. "Not since that trial. But yes, Lord Stark. She was the spitting image of Lyanna. Same look, same attitude, but dangerous."

Ned's eyes grew wide. As Bran was walking by, he roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the two men. Bran bowed when he approached them. Summer growled at them, baring his teeth. Bran silenced him with one sharp look, the wolf hanging his head in shame of disappointing his master. "Describe what Arya looked like, Bran," said Ned quietly.

Bran calmly studied Ned with his serious blue eyes before turning to the two men in front of him. "She was beautiful, long brown hair and sharp gray eyes. But she looked...emotionless. Like she didn't care about anything," he said. "She had a long scar from here," he said pointing to the top of the right side of his forehead. "To here," he said, stopping at his eyebrow.

"How did you know that?" Asked Tywin carefully. "The girl had the same scar."

"I dreamt of it," bluntly said Bran, as if it was nothing.

Ned put his hands on Robert's shoulder's, looking him square in the eye. "Where is she now?"

* * *

**Arry POV**

Arry had trouble finding work after leaving Lord Tywin's service. The commoners had heard of what she had done and they feared her. At least no one bothered her anymore; it came in handy when trying to find a table at the Blue Inn. Many men simply abandoned their's once they saw her enter the door. She wore both  _Vengeance_ and  _Needle_ on her hip and had her silver wolf ring on her right middle finger.

She was currently sitting at a table, laughing and drinking with the others. Gendry, Hotpie, Tom, Lem, and Anguy were all there. They had heard about what she had done in the trial, how she killed the knight while barely lifting a finger. At first, they were uneasy about being around her. Then Gendry must have said something to them, because they acted like nothing was wrong.

She was happy again. She stayed with Gendry in his apartment and had plenty of gold left over from her service with Tywin. But her wolf dreams grew stronger and stronger every night. She felt her coming closer and closer to King's Landing, a large pack following. The Starks had brought their direwolves down with them from Winterfell. In one of her dreams, she met her brother and sister again and hunted with them.

All was going well. Hotpie just laughed at a bawdy joke Tom told, and ale shot out of his nose. Gendry was punching his back, trying to get him to cough up the liquid. That was when the Blue Inn went silent, a bell ringing on the door.

None other than Tywin Lannister walked through. She clenched her fists and stood, feeling  _Vengeance_ 's hilt in her hand. "Arry," he said, greeting her. She glanced behind him and saw the Mountain. She wiped her face of any emotion, praying for no violence.

"Lord Tywin," she said, emotionlessly. She refused to ask why he was there.

There was an awkward silence before he turned on his heel, saying, "Please follow me outside." She was surprised he even said "please." Not wanting to anger him, she glanced at her friends behind her and followed him outside the inn, shutting the door softly behind her.

Besides a few Stark and Lannister guards, two other men stood by. One had a long face and brown hair streaked with gray. He had solemn gray eyes, and his mouth fell open when he saw her. The other was a boy. She squinted at him and then recognized who it was. He was the boy in her dream, the one with the three eyed raven. The boy was serious, standing still, his hand on a direwolf's head next to him. The wolf was as large as a pony and stalked forward towards her.

He stopped in front of her, his gold studying her face. Oddly, she didn't feel afraid. The wolf suspiciously brought its head forward, sniffing her face. Then he sat on his hind legs and tilted his head back, letting out the loudest howl she had ever heard. Two more howls joined in from the direction of the Red Keep. The wolf turned and sat next to his master.

"You're the boy from my dream," she stated emotionlessly. She turned to the man standing next to him, crossing her arms. "And I assume that you're Lord Eddard Stark, visiting from Winterfell." She refused to bow to him, or to any other man for that matter.

"It's her," nodded the boy, a large smile growing on his face.

Lord Stark moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her to hug her. She was so taken back that she nearly slipped out her finger knife. She stood stiffly until he released her. "Arya," he whispered, eyes filling with tears. "The Gods have been merciful."

Gently pushing him away, she tilted her head to the side, frowning. "Who's Arya?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Next chapter will be out soon. Here's the reunion; I know a lot of you were really looking forward to that. More to come!


	26. Twisting the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry meets her supposed family, fearing that they find out who she truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, you guys are the best! Your comments and kudos keep me going!

Arry didn't know these people. Lord Stark had hugged her, calling her Arya. She stood stiffly, nearly slipping out the think blade she kept up her sleeve. _Who the fuck is Arya?_  She thought, trying to hold her tongue. The boy she had seen in her dream, the one with the direwolf, had said that it was her, smiling with joy. She didn't understand; she couldn't remember. After pushing Lord Stark away, she simply asked, "Who's Arya?"

The two looked utterly disappointed. "You're Arya," said the boy, pushing his red hair out of his eyes. He had an angular face with no hint of beard. She guessed he was young, just going through his growth spurt. His voice was not necessarily deep but not as squeaky as the stable boys in the Red Keep. His clear, blue eyes held so much knowledge. They were a lighter shade than Gendry's stormy blue. She had never seen eyes like his before, with so much wisdom for someone so young. "Arya Stark, second daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell." 

She looked at him blankly, not registering what was happening. There was an awkward silence as she crossed her arms, showing how uncomfortable she was with the situation. The boy looked expectantly towards Lord Stark.  _I_ 'm _no lord's daughter_ , she said.  _Especially not of one of the most powerful and ancient families in the seven kingdoms. I'm a fighting slave, a Faceless Man, a sell sword. Not a lady._

"She doesn't remember anything from her childhood," smoothly supplied Tywin, stepping in between them. She didn't miss Lord Stark narrow his eyes a bit at Tywin. There must be some bad blood between them. With his calm demeanor, Tywin placed a hand on Arry's shoulder (she held her self back from twisting it until it broke). Instead of feeling reassuring, it felt as if Tywin was telling her to behave. "Why don't we go back to the castle, and you can try to explain to her there?" The Starks glanced at each other, uncomfortable with the fact that Tywin knew so much about her. She frowned, shrugging his hand off; she had just killed a man there a month ago...and now they wanted her back?

They mounted their horses, one of the guards brining over a chestnut mare for her to ride. She hesitated before swinging on the saddle; did she really want this lifestyle, the one of a lady? _I will never be a lady,_ she thought.  _And if anyone tries they'll learn who they're dealing with._ She climbed onto the horse, deciding it was better to know her identity than to be lost her entire life. As she rode away, she didn't notice Gendry standing in the doorway of the Blue Inn, watching her recede and clenching his fists in anger.

* * *

While she rode to the castle, she uncomfortably explained to Lord Stark and his son, Bran, that she had lost her memory ten years ago. She refused to tell them what happened after that, skirting over the truth and instead telling them she traveled to Essos and then back to King's Landing once she had the dream. She felt...strange telling them about her slavery, and decided to hide the truth for now. Lord Tywin shot her a knowing look when she told her white lie, and she responded with a glare. It wasn't any of his business. 

She was led through the Red Keep, walking with Lord Stark. Bran had left them, his wolf following behind. He said something about finding his mother to tell her the good news, giving the two time alone. She wrung her hands on her lap as she sat in his solar, waiting for him to speak first. "You really don't remember us, do you?" He asked sadly, his grey eyes fixed on her face.

"I'm sorry, Lord Stark. My oldest memory was waking up on the back of a cart. The only two things I had were my sword, _Needle_ ," she said, pulling the thin blade out, handing it to him by the hilt. "And my wolf ring. _Needle_  was stolen from me years ago and I only found it again recently."

He studied the blade. He stroked it slightly, fingering the mark right above the hilt. "This is Mikken's mark, Winterfell's blacksmith." He smiled softly. "My natural born son, Jon, gave this to you on your nameday ten years ago. You were closest with him." He handed it back and she slipped it onto her belt. "Can I see the ring?" She nodded, slipping it off her finger and handing it to him. She studied his face. He looked incredibly saddened by that ring. "You used to wear it on a necklace. It was my sister's, Lyanna's. You've grown so much." She supposedly resembled her. Arry knew all about Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen, and Robert Baratheon. One woman sent the entire kingdom spiraling into civil war. 

"Lord Stark," she started hesitantly. "I-"

"Please, Arya. Don't call me by my title. I'm your father," he said, handing her back her ring as he interrupted her. She slipped it onto her finger. 

She nodded. "Father," he smiled when she said that. "I am not fit to be a lord's daughter." She bit her lip. "I won't pretend to be someone I am not. "I-I don't remember anything. And I won't trick you or anyone else into thinking I am."

He took her hand, gripping it tightly. "I know this much, Arya. We will love you no matter who you were or who you are now. The Arya I knew ten years ago wasn't interested in dolls or needlework, but loved riding and swords. Much like you do." 

She smiled. "Thank you, Lor-father." 

Just as he gave her hand a small squeeze, the door slammed open. Arry glanced towards it on shock, her hand moving to the blade on her hip. A beautiful red haired woman shoved open the door, demanding, "Where is she, Ned?" She wore a northern gown and had her hair pulled back into a simple braid, much like the one Arry wore. Her red hair was streaked with grey, her face filled with wrinkles. Not wrinkles of joy, but those of sadness. Her blue eyes were too sorrowful. Arry realized the woman was Lord Stark's wife, Catelyn Tully-Stark.

Lord Stark shot to his feet, grabbing the woman's hand and bringing her over to Arry. Arry stood and bit her lip, nearly pinching herself for slipping back into that nervous habit. "Arya," she whispered, blue eyes filled with tears. Bran had the same eyes. She grabbed Arry and pulled her into a tight hug. "Arya, my sweetling, Arya." She was sobbing on Arry's shoulder. Arry was uncomfortable with this strange situation, and assumed that this woman was her "mother".

Lord Stark broke them apart. "Cat," he said, leading this woman over to one of the chairs. Arry sat down across from them. "She doesn't remember us," he said quietly. "Bran thinks it is from one of the men who hit her over the head with a spear. She may have lost her memory from the blow."

"You don't know who we are," said the woman, eyes filling with tears once again. "You don't remember Winterfell." They were more of statements than questions. 

Arry shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lady Stark—mother" she quickly corrected. "I won't lie, but this is quite strange for me. I have spent most of my life serving others, to find out I am royalty..." She left out the part about her enslavement, and of course, the Faceless Men. The woman could barely handle the fact about her returning, to tell her that she had spent most of her time in chains and all of it killing...

"Where were you, Arya?" Asked Catelyn. She reached over and tightly grabbed Arry's hand. "What happened to you?"

She paused a moment, trying to figure out what she should and shouldn't tell them. "My earliest memory is from ten years ago. I woke up on a cart. From there I traveled to Essos, living in Meereen and then Braavos. It doesn't matter what happened there," she said softly, her face suddenly emotionless. She wasn't necessarily lying, she was twisting the truth. "I had a dream with your son, Bran, that led me to King's Landing. I learned how to fight in both Meereen and Braavos. I got my scar there," she said, trying to avoid the question. 

Catelyn's eyes studied the scar, suddenly moving back to meet her own. "You always loved swords," said Catelyn, smiling. She moved to sit next to her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. Arry hid how uncomfortable she was with the situation. She placed a kiss on the side of Arry's head. "Ned. Find the children and bring them here. It's time they see their sister." 

* * *

She met two of her siblings again, except for two (three) of the boys. Catelyn made a face when Ned mentioned his bastard, Jon. Supposedly, she was closest with him. They were the only two who resembled Lord Stark. The direwolves came in the room with them, sniffing her or licking her hand. Lady even allowed her to scratch behind her ear.

Sansa was the perfect lady, dressed in an ornate gown and already showing off a southern hairstyle. She had large blue eyes and long, shiny red hair. Arry noticed how she glanced disdainfully down at her dirty trousers, breastplate, and swords. But she hugged her tightly, telling her how much she missed her. 

She met Bran again and he gave her a quick hug. Bran told her what had happened the night when she disappeared, how Winterfell was attacked by a mix of bandits and deserters of the Night's Watch disguised as Wildlings. They were able to burn part of the large castle. Arry and the others were leaving the battle. Lord Stark split them into two groups; one with Arry, Bran, and Jon and Robb, Sansa, Rickon, and Catelyn in the other. Their group was attacked by some of these bandits and Arry's wolf, Nymeria was wounded. Arry was knocked unconscious and was carried away. Bran and Jon were able to escape but Bran was left with a small limp from a wound he received on the leg. A few days later, Nymeria tracked her scent to a burning hut. Inside was a small body with her wolf pin melted to it. 

She was told that the other three boys were still at Winterfell and how ecstatic they would be to hear the good news. She learned their names were Robb, Rickon, and Jon. Catelyn spoke about Robb and how much of a natural leader he was. He was the heir to Winterfell, currently ruling it. Eddard told her that Rickon was even wilder than her. Bran started to speak about Jon but stopped after he saw the look of hatred on Catelyn's face. 

She spent the night with the Starks and they laughed and cried about her. They told her what she was like as a child, how she acted. Arry struggled to keep her face smiling the entire time. By the end of the night, her face ached with the effort. All she could think about was them finding out about her slave fighting or even worse, her being an assassin. Would they love her, would they accept her?  _Don't get too attached, Arry_ , she told herself.  _Everyone leaves you in the end._


	27. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's family finds out a bit more about her past.

Arry eased herself into the tub, hissing as the hot water burned her body. The handmaiden had warned her not to go into the tub so soon but Arry sent her away, telling the girl that she could get ready herself. In truth, she didn't want her to see her scars and spread rumors to the rest of the castle. It was bad enough that most of them knew she was a slave, to know who owned her and how brutally she was treated...no, she wanted to avoid all of that. So far, none of the Starks had found out about the slavery. But it was only a matter of time. Everyone in the castle loved to gossip. Arry was just lucky that the Tyrell's weren't around. 

There was a feast later tonight to celebrate the Starks's arrival and her return. The castle was abuzz, gossiping about the lost lady, Arya Stark. Arry rolled her eyes every time someone gave her a shocked stare. It was bad enough that she would have to start conversing with the nobles instead of guarding them. The guards in the castle treated her differently already, calling her "m'lady" and bowing as she walked by. She hated every minute of it. And she missed her friends, her real friends, Gendry and Hotpie and the others. She was followed everywhere by her family members or other nobles or guards.

Her entire life, she wanted to find her family. But now that she found them, she discovered that she was more depressed. She hated being treated like a lady. Arry wanted to be free. And honestly, being a noble was like being in chains. She was forced to dress nicely and speak politely. She wasn't allowed to practice her sword fighting or walk around unaccompanied. No one had cared about protecting her when she was poor. Why did it matter now? She had been able to avoid wearing a dress the past week but Catelyn firmly put her foot down, insisting trousers were not proper attire for a feast. Arry would feel bad if she started an argument, so she agreed to wear one. 

She was starting to love her family, she really did. But it was frustrating that she still could not remember them. Part of her didn't believe that she was Arya Stark. Frankly, her family could be exhausting at times. Ned was warm to her but often gazed at her sadly, like she was someone else. It was probably his dead sister, Lyanna Stark. Arry hated that she lived in this woman's shadow. Ned was a respected man and a great leader. She could see why the Northerners were so loyal to him.

Catelyn loved Arry more than she could ever imagine. She loved all of her children, but at the moment, all of her attention was focused on Arry. She insisted that Arry come everywhere with her and Sansa and always wanted her to leave her swords behind. Arry refused, saying the castle was a dangerous place. Catelyn pressed her lips together with displeasure but replaced it with a poised smile. Arry could tell that Catelyn wanted her to be the perfect lady, but that would never happen. Catelyn wanted specific details on where she was and what she did, but Arry avoided them with vague excuses. However, they would eventually find out that she was a slave.

Sansa was exhausting to deal with. The two had already gotten into a couple of fights over simple things. Sansa wanted her to attend tea with the Queen and other ladies around the castle but Arry told her that the Queen was a ice queen. Sansa gasped, telling Arry that she was being extremely rude and that she should accept the Queen's invitation. Arry simply told her that Cersei was a killer and that she would rather walk on hot coals than go within five feet of her. Sansa stormed off in a huff, and told her that she hadn't changed at all. Arry stuck her tongue out when she turned.

She got along with Bran the best. Bran always had his nose buried in a book and seemed like he had lived one hundred lives. He was wiser than any of the Starks. He explained to her that their dreams must have connected with his Green Seeing. He had awoken the gift in Winterfell's godswood, under the weirwood tree. He had been sitting quietly, thinking about nothing, when a vision exploded into his head. He had anticipated an attack on Castle Black and had warned his father. Wildlings had attacked two days later and Bran had warned them not a moment too late. 

She lay in the tub, thinking about the events of the previous week. Once the water was lukewarm, she decided it was time to wash up. She lathered soap into her hair and dumped a pitcher of water onto her head, getting all of it out. She scrubbed the dirt and grime off of her body. She couldn't remember the last time she had such a good bath. Arry was trying to please her mother, spending extra time cleaning out her dirty nails. 

She eventually got out of the tub, drying off with a towel and throwing on her sleeveless slip to go under her dress. Just in time too, because there was a knock on the door. "Arya?" Asked Catelyn Stark. "Sansa and I have come to help you get ready for the feast."

"Come in," said Arry after a moment, sitting down on the chair of her vanity. Catelyn and Sansa entered the room, both frowning at its messy state. Arry almost snorted when she saw how similar their faces were; Sansa was just a younger version of Catelyn. Clothes were thrown everywhere and weapons were scattered throughout the room.  _Needle_ and  _Vengeance_  sat on her bed next to the grey dress she was supposed to wear. Arry was currently wringing the water out of her hair and onto the floor. 

Both were dressed in their best clothes. Sansa wore a sky blue sleeveless southern style dress, as smooth as silk. It gracefully draped over her curves. She had left her hair red hair half up and half down. The part that was left down was completely straight. The top had small braids woven into a net type thing on the top of her head. Arry would never understand Southern fashion. 

Catleyn wore an emerald green dress with long sleeves. Her's was made of some velvet type material. She had her red hair pulled back into a simple Northern braid, deciding it was too hard to deal with Southern hairstyles. 

Catleyn came over and put her hands on her shoulders, smiling slightly at her reflection in the mirror.. "You need to put on your dress first, Arya." 

Arry grinned sheepishly. "I haven't dressed up in a while," she said. She stepped into the gray silk gown and was thankful for the long sleeves to hide her shoulder burn. When Catelyn moved her damp hair off her back to lace it, she gasped and grabbed her arm. "Gods, Arya, what happened to your back?" She asked, horrified at the state it was in.

Arry pulled away, realizing all of her scars were showing, including the one on her shoulder. When she turned to face Catelyn, Sansa saw it too and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Arry grabbed a cloak laying on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering all of the scars. "And your shoulder," moaned Catelyn, tears pooling in her eyes. She moved to Arry and gently pulled down the cloak, revealing the horrible burn. 

"V," said Sansa, tilting her head in curiosity. "Where is that from?"

"It doesn't matter," muttered Arry, turning her back to Sansa this time to lace it. Sansa must of realized how uncomfortable she was and nimbly laced the strings through the dress. Arry sucked in a breath when she pulled it tightly; she hated dressing this way. Once the laces were finished, Arry sighed and lowered her head. "I don't want to talk about it," said Arry. "Ok?"

"Of course, my sweet," said Catelyn, recovering from her initial shock. She smiled at Arry in the mirror. "How do you want your hair done?"

"Like a Northerner," said Arry, raising her chin, gray eyes flashing with determination. Catelyn smiled again and began a simple braid down her back. As she was doing this, Arry thought of her list and frowned.

 _Cersei_ , _Joffrey, the Hound, Ti'han,_ she thought.  _Valar morghulis._ While Sansa and her mother had their backs turned, she slipped her finger knife up her sleeve.


	28. The Failed Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry's luck runs out when King Robert tries to force her into a marriage proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July!

Arry sat at the high dais of the feast, alone, sighing and looking out at the crowd. Her family was scattered throughout the room, dancing or talking. Sansa had been dancing the whole night. Although she was betrothed, it did not stop nearly all of the eligible men in the room from flirting with her. Prince Tommen shyly asked to dance with her first and she only agreed because she did not want to upset him. Even Joffrey had asked to dance with her, the little shit. Sansa, of course, agreed immediately, ecstatic that the prince was paying attention to her. Her hand clenched around her glass as she thought about him. _If only she knew how horrible he is,_ she thought.  _Ti'han, Joffrey, Cersei, the Hound. Valar morghulis._ _  
_

Bran was at the Maester's table, looking like he was arguing about something with Grand Maester Pycelle. Pycelle's face turned red and some of the maesters snickered. Bran looked extremely satisfied with himself, throwing a piece of meat towards Summer that he took off the maester's plate. He must have proven Pycelle wrong about something (well, it probably wasn't too hard. Pycelle is an idiot). Leave it to Bran to prove the Grand Maester wrong.

Lady and Lord Stark were among the others at the feast. Catelyn was talking with a group of ladies and Ned with Barristan Selmy, both glancing disappointedly towards the King who was blatantly flirting with a serving girl. Cersei and Jaime were both glaring towards him, Jaime with his hand on Cersei's shoulder. She put her's up to it and squeezed. Arry raised her eyebrows; that gesture was not lost on her. She had heard rumors of the two acting like...Targaryens. Arry shuddered with the thought of it. 

She was bored, completely and utterly bored. It was late, too, well past midnight. She didn't mind staying up late. In the House of Black and White, they had her stay up hours to prepare the bodies. But she absolutely hated this feast. Although it was thrown in honor of her return, nearly all of the attention was off of her. Not that she really minded; a few of lords tried to ask her for a dance in the beginning but stopped coming up to her after she "spilled" her wine on three separate men's laps. Her mother had sent her a disappointed look. The only man on her mind was Gendry. She felt horrible that she hadn't seen him in over a week and had no idea when she would be able to. She was watched at all hours of the day, afraid to sneak out; if her parents found out... And worse, she was going to leave for the North very soon. 

She got up from the table and walked down the steps of the dais, holding up her skirts, dodging past men and women spinning across the dance floor, some shooting her dirty looks. She went to the table her mother was sitting at, tapping her on the shoulder. Catelyn turned to face her, a concerned look on her face. Arry feigned a yawn. "It is late, mother. I am going to my chambers."

Just then, before her mother could respond, someone reeking of alcohol crashed into her. She slipped her finger knife into her hand, ready to attack until she heard who it was. "Arya Stark!" Boomed Robert Baratheon, pulling her into an uncomfortable hug. She couldn't help rolling her eyes. She slipped her knife back up her sleeve. She stood by stiffly, waiting for him to release her. Once he finally did, she stepped back next to her mother.

"King Robert," said Catelyn in a practiced tone. She must have dealt with Robert or others like him a lot. "Your grace, we wanted to thank you for your hospitality in throwing this feast in Arya's honor."

Robert waved his hand, swaying slightly on his feet. He had bits of food stuck in his beard and his face was bright red from drinking so much. "It was nothing, Cat," he said. Arry glanced behind her when she felt a hand on her shoulder and saw her father standing there, his face as serious as always. "Besides, how could I not? The girl looks so much like Lyanna." The look that suddenly grew on Robert's face made Arry slightly uncomfortable. 

Ned stepped in. "Yes, she does." He wrapped his arm around Arya's shoulders. "But, she is quite different." His tone had a slight warning in it, telling Robert not to confuse the two. 

"Bah! She has the same fire!" A sly smile suddenly grew on Robert's face. "You can't hide her up North, forever Ned." He suddenly grabbed Arry's elbow, dragging her with him towards the dais. Along the way, he plucked Joffrey out of the crowd, grabbing his collar. With the two of them in tow, he pulled them up the steps. Arry and Joffrey glared at each other. Nothing good was going to come out of this combination. 

Robert grabbed a metal plate and goblet, crashing the goblet into the plate over and over again until the hall grew silent. "Attention you son's of whores!" He slurred. Arry thought he might fall off the stage. Arry _hoped_ he would fall off the stage."As you know, Arya Stark, thought dead for ten years, recently reappeared in King's Landing. She was reunited with her family." Her parents and siblings made their way to the front of the crowd, watching with confused looks on their faces. Joffrey stood next to her, arms crossed over his chest. 

"I lost my first love, Lyanna, years ago," he said. Everyone in the hall shifted in embarrassment, sending glances towards Cersei. She glared at Arry in response. "Arya is exactly like her, a winter rose that should not hide her beauty so far north. That is why I am joining our houses, Baratheon and Stark!"

Her eyes went wide, face draining of blood. She sent a glance of desperation towards her parents who looked as shocked as her. Sansa had a look of jealously plain on her face.  _No, no, no, no, no,_ she thought.  _This cannot be happening. Not with him, I'm supposed to kill him!_

"Arya, you will marry my son Joffrey and will be the future queen of Westeros! What do you say?" He asked earnestly, a grin etched onto his round face. Murmurs echoed across the hall.  

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, as she did not know how to respond. Her mouth hung open for a few seconds. "No," she finally said, nearly covering her mouth with her hands. The last time she had said something she didn't mean to was to Ti'han. She had insulted him in front of guests visiting from Astapor. He had his Unsullied drag her out of the room by her hair. Later, she had gotten a whipping for it; one that he was sure to personally deliver. She nearly frowned at her unpleasant past. She wasn't faring much better in the present, to tell the truth. 

Robert's smiling face suddenly grew into a frown. He seemed much more sober than before. "What did you say?" He asked carefully, daring her to repeat it.

She straightened her shoulders. _No going back now._  "No," she said a bit louder and more determined. She wiped her face of all emotion. An uneasy silence grew over the hall. Suddenly, her father was beside her.

"Talk some sense into the girl, Ned," said Robert, clenching his hands into fists. His blue eyes were suddenly dark, almost as black as his beard. 

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Arya, graciously thank him and accept the match. Now," he whispered in her ear.

She ripped her shoulders out from his hands, stepping closer to Robert. Her voice echoed across the hall. "Why would I ever accept this match? Incase you have forgotten, he tried to kill me." She said, jabbing a finger at Joffrey. Joffrey took a slight step back, noticing the look of rage on her face. "Your son is a terrible boy who will make a terrible king. I don't want to be near this shipwreck when the people finally overthrow him after he starves, humiliates, and tortures them. So, no." Joffrey opened his mouth in shock, taking another step back. He no longer had a smug look painted on his face but looked rather angry. She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing this was going to come back to bite her.  _Can't be wore than Ti'han_ , she thought.  _If I can handle him, I can handle a fat, drunk king._

Robert's face grew red with rage. "Learn some respect!" He bellowed, spit flying from his mouth. Robert's red face was in a horrible grimace, warped with rage. His beard had bits of food stuck in it and he stunk of wine and ale. He was absolutely furious and for a man with so much power, it put Arry in danger. But she wasn't afraid. "You will learn your place, girl, and accept this match before—"

"Before what?" She asked sarcastically, interrupting his lecture. Her face was also twisted with rage. "Before you kill me? Your lady wife already tried," she spat out, her voice growing louder. She glanced and saw Cersei glaring at her with resentment. Arry hopped down from the dais, beginning to storm out of the room.

"DO NOT TURN YOUR BACK ON ME! I AM YOUR KING!" He roared, slamming his fist on the table. A few wine glasses spilled from the vibrations. The nobles parting, making room for her to pass. She tried and failed not to look at her mother, as she just gazed at her, revolted with her behavior. Sansa averted eye contact and Bran stared at her in awe. Her father was the worst of all; he simply watched her go, shaking his head slightly with disappointment. 

Without turning around or stopping, she said (without stopping herself, again), "You're no king of mine." With that final line, she shoved the heavy wooden doors open with both hands and stormed into the hall, the doors slamming shut behind her.

* * *

She quickly walked through the Red Keep's dark and dank halls only lit by torches with her head down, contemplating what she should do. The first thing she wanted to do was change out of the stupid dress she was wearing and have her sword on her hip, just incase King Robert decided to have her arrested. She hoped her family would protect her, but did not know at this point, not with the way they reacted in the hall. She was so focused on her own thoughts that she did not notice Tyrion Lannister until he appeared right in front of her. 

She stopped on her heels, pulling back so she did not crash directly into him. She studied him with her steely gray eyes. 

"Lady Arya," he said, a grin growing on his ugly face. "That was quite the show," he commented, his mismatched eyes studying her face. Of course he enjoyed it. Tyrion loved anytime someone made a fool of themselves. She wasn't sure if he was amused with herself or Robert. 

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "Lord Tyrion," she added, making her statement seem less aggressive. 'And it was't meant to gain attention. I just didn't like the stupid match. It wasn't fair to make. How did you get here so fast?" She asked suspiciously. 

"Life's not fair. I learned that at a young age. It pays to be close friends with the Spider. He showed me many secret passages all throughout the castle, inside and out. And for the record, I don't blame you," laughed Tyrion. "My nephew truly is a piece of work. But you are a lady now and are expected to find a husband. Some women would kill to marry the Crown Prince," he said with a wry smile. She leaned against the stone wall of the castle, crossing her arms. "They'll force you to marry eventually, you know."

"Call me Arya, Lord Tyrion. I'm not just a 'lady'" She said. Her face twisted at the mention of the title. "Just let them try to force me."

He smiled. "Then you must call me Tyrion." They walked again, down the empty halls of the castle. "Ha! That is true; I doubt anyone could force you into doing anything you didn't want to. I have to admit, I have found myself fascinated with the mysterious Arya Stark, disappearing for ten years before saving Tywin Lannister's life in King's Landing by fighting off an assassin and then killing the Queen's knight in a trial by combat. They should write a song about you." He made a tsking noise with his mouth. "There's a lot that you're hiding."

She glared at him. "Perhaps it should stay hidden, Tyrion. Unless you want me to show you my skills," she threatened.

He barked out a laugh. "You really don't like Lannister's, do you?" He asked. "Not that I blame you. My nephew tried to kill you and my sister tried to kill your bastard lover. Quite scandalous—"

Before he could go on, she slammed him against the wall, pinning him there by the shoulders. Rage showed in her steely gray eyes as she held the knife to his neck. "Do not call him that," she hissed.

Surprise showed on his ugly face as he tilted up his neck and swallowed. "My apologies for offending you, Arya. But it is true; just as I am a dwarf, he is a bastard," he said carefully. She released her hands, taking a few steps back. He sighed with relief. "Varys told me about you and the boy. I should warn you, if your family finds out..."

She frowned as he dusted off his tunic. "The Spider knows everything, then. I can deal with them," she said. "I've dealt with much more dangerous people."

"You're going to have to face the King again," warned Tyrion. "But I would suggest giving him a few days to cool off, before he orders Ilyn Payne to take your head. It was quite foolish to embarrass him in front of all of those people, even if what you said was true. He'll be out for your blood, both him and Cersei for insulting her son. Granted, she would want to kill you just for the match." They walked in silence for a few moments. "Your family still does not know about your skills?" He asked. "You know they're going to find out eventually, don't you? About both the boy and your talents. "

They walked through the dark halls of the castle, few guards in sight. Most were drunk at the feast. 

She frowned again. "I can't bring myself to tell them that their daughter disappeared for ten years and returned from the dead, a killer. There's a lot they don't know. I just hope they won't find out until I feel comfortable telling them." She found it odd, confessing all of this to Tyrion. But he was a good man, better than most nobles. "I still feel like I just met them. And I've already managed to disappoint them."

Tyrion barked out a laugh. "I've been a disappointment to my father since I was born," he said, gazing straight ahead, his green and black eyes growing cloudy with sadness. They stopped at Arya's door. "I would suggest staying out of Robert's way for a few days," he said, glancing at her twisted hands.

She gave a sly smile. "Do you happen to know any good secret exits from the castle?" She asked.

Tyrion bowed deeply. "It would be an honor to help you escape Robert's and Cersei's wrath. Gods know I've done it enough times!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you guys know, I won't be posting for awhile (around 2 weeks). I'll try to, but no promises. Stay tuned—I'll be back soon. :)


	29. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry's family disappoints her. She reaches a breaking point, making a decision she cannot take back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello reader! I'm back (should be for good now). This one is a bit of a shorter chapter. Gendry is back in the next one (although you guys may be pissed...)

After speaking with Lord Tyrion, she went into her room, locking the door behind her. She even through the thick wooden bar over the door, worrying that the guards would try to knock it down. King Robert was very, very angry with her. She pulled off her dress and quickly threw on a pair of pants, a tunic, and boots. She fastened her sword belt around waist,  _Vengeance_ and  _Needle_ attached to it.

She slipped her finger knife up her sleeve and a put few other daggers hidden in the folds of her clothes. She feared that King Robert would send his dogs after her, and wanted to be prepared for anything.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Her head swiveled sideways and her heart raced; her hand flew to  _Vengeance_ 's hilt. 

"Arya!" It was her mother. She immediately relaxed, letting out a breath she didn't know that she was holding. "It's your mother and your father. Open the door!" She stood, frozen in her spot, contemplating her options. Catelyn sounded angry, to say the least. There could be guards outside the door, waiting to capture her. Would her own parents betray her, if the king ordered it?

She clenched her jaw, swallowing her fear. She raised the bar over the door and pulled it open. Her two parents were standing there, looking extremely worried. No one else was around the hall. "Arya," said her father, disappointment filling his eyes. "What were you thinking?"

She narrowed her eyes, stepping aside, allowing them to enter the room. "I simply said what I thought," she said. She looked down the empty hall, closed the door, and locked the door behind her. She turned to her parents and crossed her arms.

"You insulted the King and worse, your words approached treason!" Said Lord Stark. Both of her parents looked angry; she had heard that Lord Stark never got angry but quickly found out that was wrong.

She bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. "It was the truth!" She yelled back. 

"It would be an honor to marry the Crown Prince, Arya" said her mother, her blue eyes blazing with anger. "You know the Tully's words, my house words. Family. Duty. Honor. You would have been Queen! Instead of doing your duty and accepting the match, you embarrassed our family."

That struck a nerve. Who did Catelyn Stark think she was, telling Arry her duty? With rage boiling over, Arry took a deep breath and wiped her face of all emotion. Her parents uneasily glanced at each other. She found that most people were not accustomed to stone faces. "I don't know the Tully's words. And do you know why?" She continued, not giving them a chance to respond. "That is because I am not your family."

Catelyn gasped as her eyes filled with tears. Ned stepped forward, putting his arm around her. "You don't mean that, Arya. You have her ring, her sword. You are a Stark," he said calmly. "This can be easily fixed. You will apologize to the King, publicly, and to Prince Joffrey and you will accept the match," he ordered, gray eyes studying her face.

"I don't remember you as my family," she said, staring off into the distance. "The people closest to me have always left, either by death or their own choice." She thought of Syrio, Jaqen, and the Kindly Man. Tywin even passed through her mind. All were her mentors. And all had left her in the end. Her eyes suddenly focused on their faces, blazing with anger. "I am so opposed to this match because I don't ever want to be sold again."

"What do you mean?" Asked Catelyn, face filling with confusion. "No one is selling you-"

"My earliest memory was waking up on a slave cart, heading to White Harbor to be bought by Meereenese slavers," she said quietly. The two looked horrified at her statement. "I was sold into slavery in Meereen for six years," she finally said. "I say what I mean because I know keeping those feelings bottled up inside is worse than the punishment. Gods know I received enough whippings to learn that lesson."

Lady Stark began to cry at this point and both looked a bit sorry for yelling at her.

"I went to Braavos after that. I trained there for four years," she said. "And when I met Bran in that dream, I came to Westeros. I found a job at the castle, working as Lord Tywin's cupbearer. I saved his life from an assassination attempt by a Sorrowful Man. After that, he asked me to be his guard."

She sighed and continued. "One day, I passed Joffrey on the street, abusing some poor butcher's boy. I stopped him, telling him that it was a public place. He tried to kill me."

Their eyes widened at that statement. "Arya-" started Ned.

She held up her hand, silencing him. "It was a pathetic attempt. The brat can barely use a cross bow, let alone a weapon that actually requires skill. I knocked him down and fought off the Hound. Joffrey tried to kill me with my back turned." She paused, trying to think of correct phrasing. "My friend, Gendry," she said carefully. "Stopped him. We were arrested and brought to the castle. King Robert of course acquitted me immediately, but Cersei called for Gendry's blood. I pleaded to Lord Tywin to help. I had risked my own life to save his own. He didn't care," she said quietly. "I told Gendry to request trial by combat."

"What happened?" Asked her mother in a quiet voice. Tears were freely streaming down her face at this point. 

She looked at her coldly. "I killed one of Cersei's knights," she said simply. "Now do you see, why I would never marry into that horrible family? Every word I said was true. If Joffrey does not change, the people will riot and eventually take his head."

"Arya," reasoned her father. "That is treason. You don't understand, you're new to this game. You must apologize to King Robert, and-"

"No, Lord Stark. I am not new to this game. I've been playing it longer than you." She thought of Ti'han and all the moves she made not to get herself killed. She then thought of her time with the Faceless Men. Last, she thought of her time serving Tywin. "And that's exactly what you don't understand! King Robert is forcing me into this match, just because I look like someone who died years ago! I am not Lyanna Stark, and I am not Arya Stark! I'm-I'm..." she paused, not knowing what to say. 

 _Weasel,_ she thought.  _Nym. Angel of Death. Cat. Mercy. Arry. _  
__

She slipped off her wolf ring and dropped it onto the ground, it bouncing and clanging before finally stopping at Lord Stark's feet. He looked down before, glancing at her, shocked with her actions.

She went to the door, grabbing a cloak on the way and throwing it over her shoulders. She pulled up the wooden block, whipping open the door. 

She looked at Lord and Lady Stark again, holding the edges of her hood. "I'm no one," she said. She threw the hood of the cloak up.

And then she vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know a lot of you expected more from the Starks, but keep in mind that Ned accepted the job as the Hand of the King even though he really didn't want to just because he felt he should. Catelyn's house words are "Family, duty, honor." All of which Arya couldn't give two shits about. 
> 
> You may think that Arya acts rashly. But that's exactly how she acts. She makes decisions based on adrenaline, never stepping back and thinking about it. And the Starks really hurt her. Also, she still thinks she's Arry, not Arya.
> 
> DON'T WORRY! I won't leave it this way. You may get angry with me for the next chapter, but trust me, it gets resolved. 
> 
> Now that I justified myself, I'll be back soon with the next chapter. Until next time!


	30. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arry asks Gendry to run away with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be mad when you read this chapter! This will all be resolved.

She sped down the halls, turning at random corners, before getting far enough away from her parent's voices. They were calling behind her, telling her to come back. 

Arry quickly walked through the halls, mentally following Lord Tyrion's instructions. She heard his voice in her head.  **Head in the direction of the Tower of the Hand, turning left at the corner where the two sets of amor are held. Go until you reach the painting of Blackwater bay. Feel along the wall next to it until you come along a brick with three grooves. Push it in slightly, and a passageway will open in front of you. It will lead you out of the castle.** **  
**

She found herself in complete darkness, happy to have the training from her time with the House of Black and White to guide her. She knew what it was like to be blind. She walked down a spiral staircase, counting three hundred steps in total. When she reached the bottom, her outstretched hands met a wall. She used all of her weight to push it forward. A cool breeze kissed her face and she stepped out into one of the Red Keep's courtyards, by the stables. She took a deep breath, leaning against the wall for a moment as her eyes adjusted. She then crept along the wooden walls, listening for the sounds of a stableboy. She saw one, sitting in a chair with a dim lantern next to him, half asleep. 

She quietly walked forward, sneaking behind him. She wrapped her elbow around his neck, cutting off his airway. He made a choking sound before lulling off to sleep. She let go, allowing him to live.

She passed her Dornish Sandsteed, instead picking a larger chestnut colored horse, better suited for the woods. She pulled on a saddle, quickly attaching the straps around. She swung herself up, and put the horse into a trot. She stopped before the gates, attacking the two men before they knew what hit them. They were left unconscious, and she rode through, headed towards Gendry's apartment. 

The streets of King's Landing were dark and empty. She sped her horse into a gallop, its hooves making loud clapping sounds on the cobbled streets. She wanted to be more discreet, but needed to get out of the city before dawn.

When she finally arrived at his apartment, she tied her horse to a post in an ally and quickly made her way up three flights of stairs to his door. She easily picked the lock, shutting the door softly behind her. She went to the side of his bed, watching him while he slept. He was laying on his stomach, his face towards her. His black hair hung messily in his face and there was a hint of stubble across his face. 

His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing deeply and evenly. She lit a candle by his bed and pushed the hair out of his face. He blinked a couple of times before waking up. "Arry?" He asked sleepily, rolling over and looking at her. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" He squinted at her face before rubbing his eyes. He yawned and stood up, pulling a shirt over his head. His bright blue eyes suddenly widened. "You shouldn't be here. You're a lady, a Stark. It's improper."

She snorted. "I'm no Stark and I'm no lady." she said glumly, picking at her nails. 

Gendry clenched his jaw, glaring at her. "Then what are you, m'lady?"

"A killer," she said simply. She stood up, looking up at him. He was over a foot taller than her. "Don't call me that," she said, growing increasingly angry at his mocking look.

"As m'lady commands," he said, bowing slightly. She growled and pushed him. He landed on the ground with a thud. He quickly got to his feet, crossing his arms. "That wasn't very ladylike." His joking tone then turned serious. "Get out of here, Arya. Go back to your family."

"I told you," she said, frustrated. "I'm leaving them. I'm not a noble, and I never will be."

Gendry shook his head, looking quite angry. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are? You're throwing this opportunity away, because you got into a fight with them? Was it about the dresses?" He mocked. He had taken on a cruel tone at this point.

She clenched her hands at her side, taking a step towards him. "King Robert wanted me to marry the brat Joffrey. I said no and a couple of things that apparently sounded like treason," she said, fiddling with  _Vengeance_ 's hilt. "Lady and Lord Stark commanded me to apologize, saying a Stark girl would never embarrass them like that. So I said I'm not their daughter. I don't remember them and I doubt I ever will."

Gendry frowned and took her hand, looking at the mark her ring left. "You're making a mistake, Arry. Stay here a few days, think it—"

"I'm leaving tonight," she said, interrupting him. "Come with me," she said softly. "I never wanted to marry that shit. Come with me, we can run away together, find some village. You can be a blacksmith there and I can hunt for our food and—"

He silenced her, shaking his head. "I love you, Arry. But you can't just run away from your problems."

She bit her lip before glaring at him with her steely gray eyes. "So that's it?" She asked, defeated. "You won't come with me."

He shook his head, looking at her sadly. "No," he said stubbornly. 

She put the hood of her cloak up again and slowly walked to the door. "I love you too," she said, her lower lip quivering. She shut the door softly behind her. She leaned against the closed door, changing her face to a plain looking, freckled girl with red hair and green eyes. 

She ran down the steps of his building, quickly untying her horse and hopping on. She sent him into a gallop, flying through the streets of King's Landing. She was stopped by guards at the Dragon Gate who asked where she was going and why she left so late. She lied and told them that she just found out her father was sick, a farmer outside of the city. Once the torch lit her face, they muttered, "It's not her. She doesn't have the Stark look or the scar."

When she found herself flying along the King's Road again, urging the horse on faster and faster, she felt something wet on her face. She looked up and saw a clear sky filled with stars; there was no rain. When she touched her face to check for blood, she finally realized that she was crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you wanted them to be together right now, but I thought this was more realistic. Gendry left her behind in the books, staying with the Brotherhood of Banners. She ran away after that, feeling abandoned. Trust me, it won't end like this! There's more to come and Gendry will be back. 
> 
> Another heads up, I may be gone for awhile. I'm not sure yet because I don't know if I'll have wifi where I'm going. It should be around 2 weeks. Sorry for the wait.


	31. Nymeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support! Turns out, I do have wifi. Whoo!

She pulled the string of the bow back and let the arrow fly. It pierced into the heart of a rabbit who twitched for a moment before it went still. She walked over and picked it up by the scruff of its neck, yanking the arrow out. She threw the rabbit into a rough bag she held in her hands for these types of things. She then made her way back to her makeshift camp. 

She had been in the woods in the Riverlands a while now. After passing Harrenhal, she sold her horse and bought a bow, arrows, and tent with the money instead. She then made her way into the woods, following her intuition. She left the King's Road to avoid the Gold Cloaks who had been flying up and down it, looking for her.

They would never find her. She had changed her face a countless number of times; so many, in fact, that she couldn't remember which one she wore now. She didn't bother picking a new name, realizing that every time she did, she ended up losing it. Weasel, Nym, Angel of Death, Cat of the Canals, Mercy, Arry, Arya... She accepted the fact that she would never know who she was. She had been gone from King's Landing for a month now.

Her wolf dreams had been stronger than ever. Although she left Arya Stark behind (including Lyanna Stark's ring), the vivid wolf dreams reminded her of who she really was. Even though that she told herself everyday that Lord and Lady Stark were wrong and she never was a Stark, the small voice in her head said otherwise. It made sense; she had the sword and the ring. However, she ignored it, choosing instead to be no one. The voice told her that she was Arya Stark and her wolf was looking for her.

The dream the night before had been the wolf running past Harrenhal, tracking her scent. She was hellbent on finding herself, the smaller wolves following her through the wolfs woods. She had noticed strange troop movements in the dream, but decided to think nothing of it. She shrugged off the thought, instead trying to find her way back. 

As she made her way back to camp, she heard the crack of a twig behind her. She spun around, feeling  _Vengeance_ 's hilt in her hand. Wolves began to file out of the woods around her, slowly stalking towards her. They watched her with their wise eyes, studying her every movement. She calmly assessed the scene; she couldn't kill all these wolves, even if she was a skilled fighter. Although she should have been terrified, she felt oddly calm. Almost like she was one of the pack. 

Leading the pack was a wolf the size of a pony with a horrible scar running vertically through her right eye. She realized it was the wolf from her dreams; she had finally found her. Her fur was matted and disgusting, covered with leaves, blood, and mud. She stood about the same height as herself and watched her silently with golden eyes. As clear as a sunny day, the wolf's name popped into her head.

"Nymeria," she whispered as the wolf stopped directly in front of her. The wolf's ears twitched at that sound. She slowly raised her hand to touch the scar above the wolf's eyes. And then with a flash of light, she remembered everything.

_Her name was Arya Stark. She remembered growing up in Winterfell, with Robb, Theon, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Jon. Jon, her favorite brother. The one who gave her Needle, who understood her. She remembered how horribly her mother treated Jon because he was a bastard but how much she loved her other children. She remembered how fair her father was, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. She remembered the Godswoods and Wintefell's great hall and everything. She remembered Nymeria, and how much she loved that wolf._

_She remembered how others treated her, how they called her Horseface and Underfoot, stupid and ugly, how her mother wanted her to be a proper lady, how her father simply smiled sadly, how Sansa wanted a sister. Only Jon accepted her for who she truly was._

_Most of all, she rememberd that night, her eighth nameday. How she hunted with Jon and received Needle and the ring. How Jon told her he was going to join the Night's Watch. She remembered escaping the castle and splitting off from the others._

_They were ambushed by bandits or the rebels disguised as wildlings who attacked Wintefell. One slashed Nymeria's eye, scaring her. Another smashed the butt of a spear onto her head, and everything went black._

Arya Stark opened her eyes, gazing into Nymeria's golden ones. Her face slipped back to her own, a scar mirroring Nymeria's. She then threw her arms around the wolf's neck who began to lick her cheek, tail thumping against the ground. "Nymeria," she said. "It's me. Arya. I remember."

She lead Nymeria to a creek. The other wolves followed, keeping their distance. She pulled Nymeria into the creek, taking off her boots and rolling up the legs of her pants. She washed the dirt and grime off of Nymeria and combed her fur with her fingers. Soon her true dark gray coat shinned through. Nymeria shook the water off, getting it all over Arya. She simply laughed, patting her on the head. 

The two sat on the bank of the river for a while, just thinking. Nymeria rested her head on Arya's knee. She softly pet her head, thinking.  _I have to go back,_ thought Arya.  _My family is in King's Landing and in Winterfell. I left them, but it is time to go back._

She put her boots on and rolled her pants back down. Nymeria's fur had dried at this point. Arya watched her wolf for a moment before climbing onto Nymeria's back. She had heard stories about men riding direwolves into battle but always thought they were silly myths. A grown man might be too large to ride one but Arya was small for her age. She dug her hands into Nymeria's fur as she took off through the woods.

Arya never had an experience so exhilarating. It was different from riding a horse. Somehow, she thought she moved faster. She tilted her head back and let out a long laugh; she was flying. She glanced back and saw the other wolves, still keeping their distance, follow Nymeria. 

"Come on, girl," said Arya as the wind whipped through her hair. "We have to go to the King's Road. It's time to go back to King's Landing."

* * *

She left Nymeria in the woods with the other wolves and stopped at a small village along the King's Road. She didn't want to attract attention to herself. She was below the Crossroad's Inn but a few miles away from Harrenhal. In the far distance, she saw its ghostly towers peeking up from the mist like fingers. She made her way into one of the inns there. A bell rang when she entered. There were a few people scattered along the tables, hunched over their bowls of stew. 

A round woman stood in over a hearth, stirring a large pot of stew. Arya walked over to her and spoke. "Do you know where I can buy a horse?" She asked softly.

The woman had graying hair. She stretched, back cracking as she stood up. She pointed her spoon towards a man nodding off in a chair near the door. "You can ask my husband. Rawn!" She snapped. 

The man hopped up from his chair. "Huh?" He asked, eyes clouded with sleep.

"The girl is asking for a horse. Find one for her!" She snarled. Arya guessed these two did not have the best marriage.

Rawn quickly nodded, gesturing towards Arya. "Follow me," he said, walking out the door. Arya slipped through the door, shutting it softly behind her. She followed the man to two horses tied on a post. "Soldiers took the best ones a few days ago. They're gathering at Harrenhal," he said.

Arya furrowed her eyebrows. "Why?" She asked. She had noticed strange troop movement but thought it must be some spat between lesser lords in the Riverlands.

The man looked at her, surprise etched on his face. "You mean you haven't heard? King's Landing was sacked three weeks ago. Some slave master from Essos is calling himself the King of Westeros. They're holding the city, along with all of the lords and ladies in it, hostage. They killed the Queen and the Crown Prince as an example. No one knows which nobles are still alive. Apparently a large fleet is also coming over from the Narrow Sea. The Northern troops just passed through here two days ago, Robb Stark leading them all. They were meeting the troops from all over at Harrenhal, to take back the city."

Arya felt the blood drain from her face. The city must have been sacked a few days after she left King's Landing. Her father, mother, Bran, and Sansa...they could be dead. If she was there...she clenched the wooden rail. Arya pointed to the livelier looking horse, flipping the man two golden dragons. He glanced at her, surprised with her kindness. She swung up onto the saddle. "Robb Stark is at Harrenhal, you say?" She asked, looking down at him. 

He nodded, showing her a smile full of rotted teeth. "Thank you, girl. Yes, the Starks are there along with some other lords. The Tully's too. Why-"

She didn't bother answering, kicking her horse into a gallop. While going down the road, she stuck two fingers into her mouth and let out a sharp whistle. Nymeria appeared at her side, galloping along with her. Again, the other wolves followed.  _Robb may have his army of men,_ she thought.  _But I have an army of wolves._

Ahead of her, Harrenhal grew larger and larger, it's giant towers broken and burned. She didn't slow down and instead, went faster. Nothing would separate Arya Stark from her family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small family reunion comes up next...


	32. A Ghost From the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya arrives at Harrenhall.

**Robb POV**

Robb Stark sat in on his war council, chin resting on his hand. His bastard brother Jon sat on his left side. Some lords had been upset that a bastard had a place at their table, but Robb quieted them at once, saying Jon would be in command if he died. Jon wore all black since Arya died, matching his grim demeanor. Robb was acting Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North since his father was a hostage in King's Landing. He left Rickon in Winterfell. Although he was angry, complaining that he always got left behind, Robb reminded him that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

He just hoped Rickon would not be the last Stark left. There was no word if any of his family members survived the siege. From what they had gathered, a slave master from Meereen decided that he wanted the city. The few people who were able to escape said that the Red Keep was the most heavily guarded out of everything. But, none of the lords knew which master it was. He had sent men into the city for a year, more and more gathering, waiting for his word to attack. He arrived from the Blackwater Bay while his men attacked inside. Some Westerosi lord had helped, buying out many gold cloaks. The city did not stand a chance. They had Unsullied soldiers guarding the city from attack, and worse, it was rumored that he had bought out all of the Unsullied in Astapor, creating a skilled army of 20,000 men. It was also rumored that he had struck a deal with three of the khalasars, the Khals agreeing to cross the Narrow Sea to invade Westeros. Their army was said to be 100,000 men strong. 

Worse, many houses had refused to help. The Vale, the Twins, Dorne, even the Iron Islands...they all claimed that it was not their battle, even though their king was a hostage in King's Landing. Jon Arryn had died a couple of years before and Lysa refused to send troops even though her own sister was one of the hostages. There was nothing Robb could do now. He couldn't fight two wars at once. The Manderly's also refused to help since Lord Wyman had died a few weeks before, a strange sickness setting in. They claimed they needed to get their house in order before they could send men.

To his right, sat his great uncle, the Blackfish or Brynden Tully. His brother and nephew stayed at Riverrun since Lord Hoster was sick and Edmure was running the house. He was a hard man and rode with the banner of a black trout. He had refused to marry, causing a rift between him and his brother. He was commanding the Tully's troops for the siege.

Among the others at the table were Renly Baratheon, Roose Bolton (and the recently legitimized Ramsay Bolton, much to Robb's dismay), Theon Greyjoy, Maege Mormont, Rickard Karstark, the Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, Lyman Darry, Jason Mallister, Jonos Bracken, Tytos Blackwood, Marq Piper, and Karyl Vance. They would meet the Lannister and Tyrell troops outside of the city. They would arrive there in a few weeks.

Karstark and Umber were currently arguing about whether or not to make an example of the Houses who refused to send men. Robb intervened, snapping, "We don't have the forces to fight two wars at once. King's Landing is secure and we need to figure out how to get men into it without alerting those inside. And we must do this before the Dothraki and Unsullied make it over the Narrow Sea. We don't want more hostages to die." The men looked grim; Cersei Lannister and the Crown Prince, Joffrey Baratheon, were killed to make an example of the Baratheon men who tried to get into the city. Their heads were put on display outside of the Dragon Gate. 

Just then, Grey Wind whined next to him, shifting his position. Ghost silently got up and padded towards the door, sniffing suspiciously. Robb and Jon glanced at each other; it took a lot for their wolves to act uneasy. The door of the room burst open, a guard running in. He quickly bowed. "M'lord," he said, out of breath. "Your sister—she arrived outside the gates, demanding to be let in."

Robb stood up, shoving his chair out behind him. The rest of the men followed in suit. "Sansa?" He asked, extremely confused. "How did she escape? Bring me to her." He demanded.

The guard looked at him, shaking his head. "Not Lady Sansa, m'lord. Your other sister. Arya."

* * *

**Arya POV**

Arya held _Vengeance_ in her hand, squaring off with one of the guards outside the gates. She flicked her long braid behind her back. She wore pants, a cloak, and a boiled leather breastplate. "Do you think I'm lying?" She asked, her steely gray eyes blazing. "The direwolf isn't enough for you to believe?" She said sarcastically. She spun the blade in her hand as Nymeria growled with enthusiasm next to her. She was surrounded by guards and had many bows pointed at her. But she wasn't worried; she had an army of wolves. 

The guards had refused to let her in, thinking she was just a common whore. They told her to stay outside the gates with the other camp followers. She calmly explained that she was Arya Stark and they laughed. One even spit on her. She slashed his cheek for that and the others intervened, pointing their own swords at her. She was waiting for Robb to arrive and stop the fighting. 

Sure enough, a large party approached them. Arya hid her smile when she saw Robb and Jon leading the pack, Ghost and Grey Wind trotting behind them. She noticed most of them men in the group kept some distance between the wolves and themselves. "Put away your steel!" Commanded Robb. Although he had their mother's look, he sounded so much like father. He had grown so much since she had left, changing from a lanky boy into a strong young man. He was well muscled from swordplay. His curly auburn hair was cropped short to his head and he wore a fur lined cloak and handsome leathers. He had a kind face with soft blue eyes and had grown a beard.

Jon was the opposite of Robb. His hair had grown long, framing his head with brown waves. He had stubble over his face like he hadn't shaved in a few days. While he was not as well built as Robb, Arya guessed he was faster. His grey eyes watched her suspiciously. He wore all black; she didn't know why. He never joined the Night's Watch, their father forbidding him to do so. Bran had told her all about it. "Who are you?" He asked. 

She nearly laughed and thought,  _I can answer in truth, for once. Certainly not No One, but Arya Stark._

She grinned and said sarcastically, "You don't recognize your own sister? I thought Nymeria would be a dead giveaway." Their mouths dropped in shock as Jon ran forward, lifting her up into a hug.

She started to laugh as he set her down but still refused to release her. He pulled back, hands still on her shoulders. She smiled at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words formed. Ghost sniffed her and licked her outstretched palm. Grey Wind followed in suit. "Bran told us but we...your face," whispered Jon, glancing at her scar.

She smiled softly. "It's a long story, Jon," she said. 

Robb walked over, face still in shock. "It's really you, Arya," he said in a daze. "Bran told us he dreamed of it but we didn't know where you were." He pulled her into a hug, laughing. "Look how much you've grown, little sister."

Theon strode over, a cocky grin on his face. "Should have known you would come back to life, stubborn little thing," he said with a laugh. He mussed up the hair on her head and she shot him a fake glare.

"I am bigger now, you know," She said with a jokingly serious voice. There was an edge of playfulness on her voice. Her face suddenly grew serious and she looked at Robb and Jon. "We have a lot to discuss," she said with a grave tone. "I left King's Landing before it was sacked. I had no idea until a few days ago." 

Shadows fell across their faces. "That can wait," said Robb with a forced smile. "For now, I just want to spend time with my sister."

She smiled but in the pit of her stomach, she felt unease.  _But for how long?_


	33. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tells Jon, Robb, and Theon where (and who) she was while gone.

She followed Jon, Robb, and Theon into one of the private rooms in the ruined Harrenhal. They had to walk through the castle, passing through areas with no roof. Robb simply told the men that they would meet again at dusk. She had a couple of hours before they had to go back to the meeting. When they sat down with each other, no one knew what to say.

"I guess I should start and tell you where I was," softly said Arya, looking at her feet. 

Jon frowned. "Ten years, Arya," he gritted out. "For ten years we thought you were dead. We buried you in the crypts! Why didn't you return home?" He looked angry and hurt. Although he was glad she was alive, he didn't understand why she was gone for so long. Her death had affected him forever. He had blamed himself for it for years. 

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Until a few days ago, the only thing I remembered was the last ten years. When I was hit with the spear, I must have lost my memory." She paused for a moment and they leaned forward. "My earliest memory was waking up on a cart heading to White Harbor. Bandits were kidnapping young boys around the area; they must have thought I was one with my clothes and short hair. They took us there to sell us to Meereenese slavers."

"What?" Yelled Robb, shooting to his feet, enraged. "Lord Wyman allowed this to go on! If the bastard wasn't dead, I'd kill him myself!" He yelled. 

A muscle in her jaw twitched as she thought about pouring the poison down Wyman's throat. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said, shrugging it off. "They took Needle from me and I was bought by one of the richest men in Meereen. Every few years he would go to Westeros to buy young boys."

"Why cross the Narrow Sea to buy slaves? Couldn't he just buy them in Essos?" Asked Jon. 

She shook her head. "The slaves from Westeros aren't used for long. He used them as fighting slaves for the fighting pits of Meereen. Everyone in the city watches and places bets on the fights. Few women fight in the pits but I was saved by a man who volunteered to train the slaves before being thrown into the fights. The master was going to sell me to Lys, figuring I was not worth the cost. No one bets on women winning. But the trainer told him to purchase me instead." She smiled sadly, thinking of Syrio. "His name was Syrio Forel and he was the former First Sword of Braavos. He was skilled, unbelievably skilled. He taught me how to waterdance. He kept me away from the pits for a year but the slaver insisted I fight."

She looked down at her hands. "What happened?" Asked Jon, gazing at her with his dark gray eyes.

Arya looked at him, her lower lip trembling. "He killed him and I fought in the pits the next day," she said, her voice cracking. Jon reassuringly squeezed her hand and she continued. "I fought for him for six years. Six fucking years."

They looked taken aback at her use of language. But she couldn't help it.

"I've killed more men, women, and children than I can remember. And I hate that I did it. But I was nine years old when I started. I...I didn't think I had a choice." She thought of her last fight and three boys she refused to kill. "One day something snapped and I fought him before escaping. He gave me this before I left," she said, pointing at her scar. 

"Where'd you go after that?" Asked Theon. He too had grown and was leaner than both Jon and Robb. He had callouses on his right hand from pulling back the bow string so much. His hair was fell in wavy brown locks onto his forehead.

She smiled slightly. "To the Free City of Braavos." She closed her eyes, remembering the crooked streets, the misty canals, the smell of fish. 

She hesitated; should she lie or tell them the truth? On one hand, she was trying to become Arya Stark again. No one was a liar. But if they found out she was an assassin, would they still want her? She swallowed and continued, shaking off her fears. 

"When I was a slave, I met a man. A very, very dangerous man," she said. She dropped her voice to a whisper, asking, "Do you know who the Faceless Men are?" Arya was currently breaking one of the most important rules of the Faceless Men.  _Do not speak about the order,_ she thought, echoing what the Kindly Man and the Waif told her.  _No one is no one. We serve the Manyfaced God._

Jon's face grew dark. "The assassins of Braavos," he said quietly.

She nodded, saying, "Yes. He helped me to escape and gave me an iron coin to join the Faceless Men." She pulled out her iron coin, holding it out in her hand. They looked shocked.

"You're an assassin?" Incredulously asked Robb, leaning a bit away from her.

"Was," she calmly corrected. Jon hesitated, reaching out and plucking the coin from her hand. He studied the worn iron face. "I _was_ an assassin," she said, emphasizing on was. "You have to understand. I was fourteen years old and had no family and no friends. Of course I went to the only place I was sure would accept me. All I had known was killing; I had been doing it for as long as I could remember. I stayed with them for four years, training and killing. I've killed a lot of people," she said, her face growing serious. "A lot," she emphasized. "Most were bad. But some weren't."

Jon looked extremely worried. "Why did you leave?"

She smiled. "Bran. Our dreams connected and a raven told me to come to Westeros. So I packed my things and took a few coins and this sword," she said, patting _Vengeance_. "I took the first ship to Westeros and arrived in King's Landing. I met someone who was almost sold with me. I helped him escape in White Harbor so he helped me find a job. I worked as Lord Tywin Lannister's cupbearer."

Theon laughed. "You worked for the Hand?" He asked. "The Lion Lannister!" He hooted. "Did he chew you up and spit you out?"

"No," she said, thinking of when she respected Tywin. "He was fond of me. I saved him from an assassination attempt and he hired me to be his personal guard. When I first found out who I was, I almost didn't want to believe it. I saw how the nobles acted, stepping on anyone below them. I didn't want to be a part of it," she said seriously. "Before finding out who I was, I stopped Prince Joffrey from beating a boy in the streets and was arrested, along with a friend of mine. The King pardoned me, probably because I look so much like Lyanna Stark. But the Queen sentenced Gendry—that's my friend—to die. I fought for him in a trial by combat, killing one of Cersei's knights. That's when I got _Needle_ back."

"They let you do that?" Asked Robb, a horrified look spreading onto his face. 

She shrugged. "They wouldn't be able to stop me if they tried. A few weeks after I had quit, father and Bran showed up at an inn I was at. They realized that I was still alive and living in the city."

"They knew?" Interrupted Jon, anger spreading onto his features. "Why didn't they tell us?"

"They probably never had the chance. It was a bit chaotic. I still didn't remember them, and struggled to fit in. I was a former slave turned assassin, not a lady. I never wanted to be one and still don't," she said proudly. Her face grew sad. "But they had other ideas. King Robert arranged a marriage proposal with the crowned brat Joffrey at a feast." She spat out. "I spoke... loosely..." she said, trying to find the right word. "And maybe was too carefree with my words. I blatantly refused and it sounded like treason. I argued with mother and father and left the city that night."

"You left them?" Asked Robb. He looked shocked that she would even consider that.

"You don't understand!" She cried out. "They wanted me to apologize and I couldn't! I will never bow down to anyone again! Ever!" She yelled. Robb gave her an apologetic look and she took a deep breath. "I came to the Riverlands, where Nymeria has been running around," she said as she scratched behind her wolf's ear. "When she found me, I remembered everything. That's when I found out about the sack and that I needed to find you," she finished.

Jon stared at her before pulling her into a hug. "I'm so sorry, Arya. I'm sorry you had to go through all that, alone." 

Robb and Theon each hugged her, Robb pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to make sure you never have to go through that again. In the morning, I am sending you back to Winterfell with twenty men. You'll be safe there and you can help Rickon rule."

She shoved him away, irritated with his suggestion. "I'm not going back until our family is safe, stupid." She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

"Arya," gently said Jon. "War is hard. You'll be safe at Winterfell. You've gone through enough in your life—let us handle this." Theon uncomfortably glanced at the ground.

She stubbornly shook her head, Nymeria growling in approval. Both Ghost and Grey Wind stood at Robb and Jon's feet, now on edge. "I'll be safer than all of you," she shot out. "Just like every typical man I've fought, you're underestimating my skill. First of all, I'll be a huge asset to you. You don't know anything about Meereen, or how the slavers think. I do! And secondly, I was an assassin for god's sake! I wasn't protected my entire life, and I sure as hell don't need it now." Robb opened his mouth to speak but she continued, shaking a finger in his face. "If you send me away, I'll ride ahead and go into the city myself."

Robb sighed and closed his eyes, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Fine," he said as she smiled victoriously. "But I am not sending you into battle! You can advise us on Meereen and ride along with us, but you will stay behind when we fight at King's Landing. Mother will have my head," he groaned into his hands.

She smiled and thought, _we'll see about that._ She hugged both of them again, thanking them for letting her stay. She glanced out the window at the setting sun. "Now...don't we have a war council to get to?"


	34. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya joins Jon and Robb at the war council, proving to be an extremely helpful asset.

Arya followed Jon and Robb as they walked into their war council, suspiciously scanning the room.

She noticed that she didn't know any of the other men sitting around the table. However, she recognized most by their sigil. Well, the Northern ones. When Septa Mordane tried to get her to study her sigils, the only ones she bothered to pay attention to were the Northern ones. Standing in the seat next to her brother was a man with a black trout on his breastplate. Judging by his red hair and blue eyes, she assumed he was Brynden Tully, her mother's uncle. 

She noticed the Leech Lord, or Roose Bolton standing nearby. She recognized the flayed man immediately. With his pale eyes and pale face, it was enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. His son, Ramsay Snow (or apparently Bolton, now) stood next to him. He had a sadistic gleam in his eye much like the ones she had seen with the more brutal slave fighters. She had heard stories of Dreadfort and how they skinned men alive. 

She gave Maege Mormont a small smile, happy to see another woman seated at the table. She was much larger than Arya and wore the bear sigil on her chest. Arya admired any woman who fought, especially ones in Westeros. Dorne was the only area that was not bothered by women fighting. 

The rest of the men she did not recognize. She noticed that some around the table recognized her, some didn't. All of their eyes traced the scar over her eye. "My lords," said Robb, taking a seat at the head of the table with Jon and Theon seated next to him. "This Arya Stark, the second born daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully-Stark of Winterfell and my sister. She was thought to be dead for many years but has finally returned to us." He gestured to the seat next to Jon and Brynden Tully. Arya noticed many small glances around the table but held her head high and sat down inbetween them.

"Arya," said Brynden with a smile. "It is a honor to meet you. Your mother wrote about you often, saying you remind her of myself, how you always refused to get married. A family only needs one blackfish, you know," he teased with a glint in his eye.

She returned the smile. "The Tully's have one" she started. "So the Starks need one too." He let out a laugh and some at the table smiled.

"Excuse me, my lord, but why is she here, seated at the war council? She is too young—and a woman!" Said one of the men seated towards the end. She narrowed her eyes at him and saw his sigil. She recognized it as the Karstark's. A couple of the men at the table muttered in agreement but quieted once they heard Nymeria growl next to her. She put her hand on her head, calming her down.

She spoke before Robb could. "Lord Karstark, is it?" She calmly asked. He nodded and she continued. "Do you know anything about the city of Meereen or the Unsullied?" She asked. 

He glared at her before saying, "They're slavers."

She let out a laugh. "Look at you! So inquisitive!" She said, mocking him. His face turned red with embarrassment and he opened his mouth to respond but she continued. "And you should know that the Unsullied are slaves too. You don't know the first thing about either. I do—I was sold into slavery in Meereen. I know all of the masters in the city and how they think. So, Lord Karstark, what do you contribute to this war council?"

Lord Karstark clenched his jaw before gritting out, "I apologize, my lady." The men at the table began to laugh. Arya glanced towards Robb and Jon and saw their small, encouraging smiles.

"Just so you know, Rickard, women can fight too," said Maege Mormont with a grin directed towards Arya. 

"What can you tell us about them?" Asked Roose Bolton in a quiet voice. She noticed that all of the soldiers at the table immediately quieted down and looked slightly uncomfortable. Roose's pale eyes studied her face for any emotion all. She took a deep breath before starting to speak.

"All of the slavers in Meereen are entitled. They get everything handed to them from the time they are young and never lift a finger up until their deaths. They treat those below them like animals. I was sold by bandits in White Harbor by a one of the richest slavers in Meereen. Any defiance is immediately whipped out, any orders disobeyed are met with cruel punishments. The slaves were helpless to stop the injustices all around them. Although many hate the slavers, more hate the Westerosi," she said, pausing and thinking about how much Ti'han would rant about the pretentious lords of Westeros with their fat king and bratty nobles. 

 _Well it's not entirely false,_ she thought.  _Ti'han was right; most of the lords in Westeros act exactly the way the slavers described. The nobles here are pretentious and look down on anyone from Essos._ Ti'han often met with lords and every time they left, he would rant about how entitled they acted. _Ti'han,_ she thought, clenching her jaw.  _Only Ti'han and the Hound are left on my list. If the rumors are true, Cersei and Joffrey perished in King's Landing._

She spoke again, her gray eyes determined. "There is a very good chance that most of the lords in the city are dead. The masters wouldn't tolerate any disrespect. That's most likely why the Queen and the Crown Prince's heads are on spikes."

"Do you think they've killed the King?" Asked Maege. 

Arya frowned. "The masters are smart. They sent disguised Unsullied into the city over weeks, months, maybe even years. Then they gave the order to attack. While the guards were busy controlling the riots in the city, they sent ships into the bay, shutting it down completely. Rumors have it that one lord betrayed them all, buying off many of the Gold Cloaks. Then they fortified the walls and shut the gates, securing all hostages. They may have killed Stannis, keeping the King as a captive. Or they may have killed Westeros's only king. They also would have killed the prince and princess, destroying the entire royal family. They know they can't last until the larger fleet of Unsullied and possibly Dothraki arrive. They're hiding in the city like the rats they are. We have to get into King's Landing before the reinforcements arrive. The two armies combined..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Westeros does not stand a chance. Especially not if Dorne joins them."

A large man sitting towards the end slammed his hand on the table. She noticed that it was recently bandaged. "You're saying all of Westeros cannot fight off a few savages?" He growled out.

She nodded. "The Unsullied have been training as warriors since the day they could walk. They follow any order they are given and have absolutely no personality. In a way, they are slaves too. The Dothraki are savages. They'll rape and pillage every town they cross. Yes, it is true that they do not know the land. But there are plenty of lords here that would guide them, seeking better rewards and revenge against the crown. And if they're willing to cross the Narrow Sea, then they really do want the Iron Throne," she said with a frown. 

Theon spoke next. He was glancing down, looking a bit guilty. He no longer held the same cocky exterior and instead looked uncertain. He threw a slip of paper on the middle of the table. "I received a raven from my father. He too is launching an invasion to King's Landing. He wanted me to kill Robb and Lord Brynden, leaving you with no major leadership." There were a few gasps at the table. He looked up, his eyes determined. "I am not a turn cloak. And I am not like my father."

Robb finally spoke. "Thank you, Theon. For showing your allegiance. When the war is done, you will take your rightful place as the ruler of the Iron Isles," he said. His blue eyes studied the maps of King's Landing placed in front of him. "We will march to the city and join the troops from the Reach and the Westerlands. We will stay further back from the city, so we will not instigate the invaders. We will give them an ultimatum and if they refuse..." He met Arya's eyes. "We'll kill them all."

"Aye, aye, aye!" Chants were heard from the table, men pounding their fists and shouting in agreement. 

 _Oh you sweet summer children_ , thought Arya. _You know nothing of Meereen._ _Leave the killing to me. Any master who has set a foot in Westeros will die at my hands. Ti'han, the Hound,_ she thought.  _Valar morghulis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Theon ended up betraying the Starks, but thought this was more accurate for this story.


	35. The Bastard Bolton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northern troops arrive outside of King's Landing. Some of the nobles make a horrible decision, pissing off Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolded text is one of Meereen's dialects.

Arya pushed her horse ahead of the pack, turning a sharp right on the King's Road and riding to the hill above King's Landing. Nymeria followed closely at her heels. From here, she could see most of the city with a bird's eye view. She tightened her grip on the reigns of her horse when she saw how tight of a hold the master's held over the city. The walls were reinforced, archers posted all along the turrets. The gates were screwed tightly shut. She saw catapults posted along the walls with large buckets (probably filled with boiling hot oil) to dump on enemies when the siege started. 

She heard the clapping of hooves behind her. "This doesn't look too good, does it?" Asked Jon as he and Ghost rode beside her. He wore all black and gray, a thick silver wolf ring sitting on his middle finger. She noticed a large sword laying across his back, the hilt dressed with a white wolf with red eyes, like Ghost. Nymeria and Ghost started to playfully nip at each other as Jon gave her a tight smile.

Arya sighed. "Even if they sent double agents into the city for years, it still would have taken more to take over the city. They must have had help, maybe with the city watch or..." she paused, shaking her head. "I don't know. The masters are crafty and manipulative and know exactly how to take what they want. I don't understand what would have pushed them to take the city so early when they had an invasion planned."

The wind whipped Jon's curly hair across his forehead. His gray eyes gave her a confused glance. "What do you mean, Arya?" They watched as the Northern men joined the Southern forces circled around the city. 

"It would have made more sense to take the city while simultaneously launching an invasion. Then, our forces would be scattered, making it much easier to attack. I can only think of two reasons for this early siege," she finished. She noticed a thick line drawn in the dirt where the Lannister and Tyrell banners could not pass. They must have set them after executing Joffrey and Cersei. "One. They want us close to the city to slaughter us all. Instead of hunting us down through Westeros while we have a chance to fortify our own cities, the invasion forces will just kill us outside of the gates. Or two, and more probable," she quickly added when Jon gave her a concerned glance, "Varys, the spider, must have heard whispers about it."

Jon nodded thoughtfully. "They have a strong hold on the city. If we try to launch a siege—"

"—we can't!" Hastily interrupted Arya. "They'll kill all the hostages in the city. Mother, father, Bran, Sansa..." She sighed, squinting towards the Red Keep. "I can get in there, you know. Undetected, just another face among King's Landing. And all of the masters will be dead before dawn."

"No." Firmly said Jon, closing the distance between them. He leaned over, grabbing onto her horse's reigns so she could not ride away. "You are staying away from all this, understand?" She started to roll her eyes. "Arya. I'll have Robb send you back to Winterfell if I hear anymore of this."

 _You could try_ , she thought as she said, "I'm sorry. It's just easier to think that way." She flashed Jon a reassuring smile. "I won't be involved with the fighting. I promise." She was lying through her teeth. If Jon and Robb thought she was too weak because she was a woman, she would show them. 

"Come on," tossed Jon over his shoulder as his horse trotted further away from her, back towards the King's Road. "Let's go meet up with Robb." She kicked her horse into a gallop, following behind.

* * *

Arya handed her reigns to one of the boys standing outside the war council tent, flashing him a small smile of gratitude. She followed behind Jon, most of the other members already seated. 

She almost did a double take when she saw a man who looked exactly like Gendry. She clenched her jaw before she could drop it open and he gave her a wink; she realized it was Renly Baratheon, the King's brother. Of course he was here; he was the only Baratheon not in King's Landing. Tyrion often threw sly comments (that most of the idiotic Small Council missed, to tell the truth) about his sexuality. Arya didn't care either way; if you loved someone, you loved them.

She held back an eye roll when Roose Bolton pulled out a chair for her to sit in. Roose was trying to make a good impression with his family, looking for a marriage proposal. Ramsay had been following her the entire way to King's Landing, shamelessly flirting. He had pale skin, beady eyes, and thin lips. To tell the truth, Arya found him repulsive. It was really starting to tick her off, especially since she knew how terrible of a person he was. She had heard the stories, about Dreadfort and the flayed skins they kept there. 

She sat down, raising her eyebrows at Jon who returned the gesture. The council started immediately. She recognized Kevan Lannister, Tywin Lannister's brother. She also recognized the Knight of Flowers, or Loras Tyrell. She knew him from one of the tourneys held in King's Landing. He wore polished silver armor ordained with roses. Next to him sat his brother, Willas Tyrell. Arya could admit that he was quite attractive. He had curly brown hair, a pointed goatee, and intellectual brown eyes. Sansa was supposed to marry him in Highgarden. Willas didn't wear any armor. Arya knew he stopped fighting years before after getting crippled by Oberyn Martell. That's why she thought tourneys were so stupid. Risking your life for what: prizes, honor? Frankly, it wasn't worth it. 

The arguing started immediately. "Three weeks!" Snapped Kevan Lannister. "And we've made no progress. Baratheon's little display cost my niece and great nephew's lives." He said while glaring at Renly. 

Renly shrugged uncomfortably, muttering under his breath, "He was my nephew too." Few at the table heard it. 

"We need to get men inside the city. Just to see what is happening. We don't know who they've killed or who is claiming to be in charge," said Willas, interrupting Kevan before he could speak. "My betrothed is in there. I can't stand the fact that there is no contact."

"We could send in men disguised as farmers. The city can't last on their supply of food forever," suggested Loras.

Kevan slammed his fist on the table. "And get my remaining family members killed? If anyone approaches the gates they'll start executing more people." There were mutters of agreement at the table.

"Have you tried to send in messengers to negotiate with whoever is in charge?" Asked Robb. Arya noticed that most of the men at the table seemed to respect him. And they all seemed to know each other, no introductions needed. 

"No. There has been no communication. A few slaves slipped through the city gates when they first took over the city. But, we haven't been able to communicate with them. They won't talk," said Renly, brushing dirt off of his ornate clothes. Arya perked up at that statement. They weren't talking because they didn't understand the language. But she would be able to speak with them.  

"Bolton sent his son in there to see if he could get them talking," said the Greatjon Umber. "Nothing like a flaying knife for a little encouragement." To her horror, some of the members began to laugh at that statement.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She asked, her chair flying out from under her. The room went silent, most not recognizing her. Arya Stark was thought to be dead. Her mouth was gaping open, staring in shock at the members. "Torturing slaves because they don't talk—they don't speak the fucking language, you shit heads!" She stormed out of the room, headed straight for the bastard Bolton.

* * *

Arya yelled at two young squires, demanding to know where Ramsay Bolton was. The two boys looked at her like a deer in torch lights, pointing towards the tents on the edge of the clearing. She sprinted towards the area, Nymeria following at her heels. She reached the tent the boys pointed her towards, throwing the flaps open.

"Stop, Bolton!" She yelled, Nymeria growling in agreement. Nymeria was crouched low to the ground, the fur on her back sticking up. She put her hand on the hilt of _Vengeance_ , surveying the room. Four slaves were tied to posts in the tent, begging Ramsay to stop. They were speaking one of Meereen's many dialects. 

He turned away from the slave he was currently carving at with a knife. The young girl was sobbing, pleading with Arya. She spoke to her in a language she would understand. Softly, she said, " **Don't be afraid. I won't let him hurt you anymore**."

Ramsay had a sadistic glint in his eye. He wore no shirt, his chest covered in blood. He wore a bright red earring in the shape of a blood drop in his right ear. He was playing with the blood covered knife in his hand, smiling at Arya. "You shouldn't be in here, m'lady," he said with his nasally, mocking voice. "You wouldn't want to get blood on your nice clothes." He stepped closer towards her, stopping when Nymeria growled. "Nice doggie," he said sarcastically.

"Get out, Bolton. I'll find out everything we need to know. I speak their language. So you can leave now," she firmly said, gripping the hilt a little tighter when his face twitched. 

"Well, Lady Stark. You are the lady of your house now, since your mother and sister are probably dead," he said with an strange smile. She clenched her teeth in anger. "I apologize, m'lady, but I'm not going to leave. In fact, I'm just getting started." He stepped closer to the girl, who started sobbing louder. 

"Ramsay!" She snapped, lowering her voice when she noticed that the girl flinched. "Get. Out." She said through gritted teeth. 

Ramsay started to laugh. "I'm so scared, Stark. Maybe you should leave. Before I get too bored with this one." He slowly cut open the girl's shirt, exposing her. When she started to shake out in fear and pain, Ramsay hit her with the butt of his knife. Arya bared her teeth, fiddling with the hilt of her sword. If she pulled out her steel, there was no going back. He slowly started stroking her cheek with the blade. "Maybe after I'm done fucking her I'll start with you." 

With that statement, she pulled out her sword with the satisfying hiss, poking Ramsay in the neck. Blood started to drip down onto his already bloody chest. He put his hands up surrendering. He started to laugh again, Nymeria growling to silence him. "Ramsay," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I won't ask so nicely next time."

"And I won't ask if you'll fuck me at all. I'll just do it," he said, baiting her. Just as she was about to drive the sword through his neck, the tent flap flew open.

"What in seven hells are you doing, Arya?" Yelled Robb, his face filled with rage. Following him were Jon and of course, Roose Bolton. 

She ignored Robb and continued to stare at Ramsay. "Arya," said Jon, warning her.

She scowled at them, hesitating before lowering her sword. She sheathed it, moving towards the slaves. She cut their ropes, covering the girl with her cloak. Glaring, she said, "Stopping this sadist from torturing people who have already been through enough," she snarled to Robb, Nymeria growling in agreement. For a moment, there was a flash of fear in Robb's face. She turned towards the slaves with a reassuring smile. **"You'll be safe soon. Don't be afraid,** **"** she said in their language. In a millisecond, the smile was gone, replaced with a glare.

"My son was given an order, and he followed it," quietly said Roose Bolton. "Is this how the Starks treat men who follow orders?" He asked, his pale eyes studying Arya's face.

"I assure you, my lord," said Robb with a disappointed glance towards Arya, "It is not. I will speak with my sister about this ordeal later. In the meantime, she will question the slaves," Arya stood, wrapping her arms around the girl as the made their way out of the room. The other three followed, huddled behind her. 

Before she made her way out of the tent, Ramsay spoke. "It would be nice to have an apology, Lady Arya," he said, a mocking smile on his face.

She looked at Jon and Robb, a disbelieving grimace etched onto her face. "Go on, Arya," firmly said Jon. 

She smiled sweetly at Ramsay, noticed that Jon and Robb looked relieved because they thought she was apologizing. She said, "Go fuck yourself." When she turned to leave the room, she tossed over her shoulder, "Be useful and send a maester." None of the men responded, shock plain on their faces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...I really can't believe I'm approaching the end. Thanks for all your comments and kudos! Five chapters left!


	36. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finds out that her nemesis is claiming to be king of King's Landing. After arguing with Robb, she makes a risky decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

After the maester finished binding their wounds, Arya called for a squire to bring them some tea and food. After he left, leaving it, she studied the escaped slaves. They were all younger than her, probably around Bran's age. There were three boys and one girl. One of the boys and the girl looked alike with a similar nose and the same, raven black hair. The other two were a bit older, just hitting their growth spurts. The three boys were ravenously eating the food the squire had just laid out while the girl sat there watching with blank eyes. 

" **You should eat something,** " said Arya softly, trying to get the girl to regain her strength. She was currently in shock, staring at the bandages on her arm. Ramsay had started to flay her right arm. " **Are you in pain?** " She asked, bringing over some milk of the poppy. 

She didn't respond for a minute before glancing at Arya with blank eyes. " **No** ," she said, looking back down at her cast. 

Arya frowned. She needed to start asking questions but she didn't want to be insensitive. She was afraid that Robb and the others would grow impatient and try to question the slaves themselves. One of the boys sat down next to the girl, holding out an apple for her to take. She didn't even look at him. He shook his head slightly, biting into the apple himself. " **I'm** **Adda** ," he introduced himself. He pointed to the girl next to him, **"This is** **Em**." He pointed over to the two large boys who were still eating. **"Those two are are Len and Pak.** " He glanced up, dark eyes centered on Arya's own.

" **How did you escape?** " She asked, focusing on Adda. Arya went to play with her ring, remembering she left it in King's Landing. She felt oddly naked without it.  **  
**

" **Em is one of our master's—well not anymore. She was a serving slave. She overheard some of the lords living in the castle talking about an escape route. She told me and I told the other two. We took it,** " he said, smiling. " **We left in the middle of the night so it was dark enough that we weren't seen."**   **  
**

She interrupted him. " **We haven't been able to get into the city. Where was the exit?** " She asked. If there was an exit, that meant there was an entrance. 

" **A bit outside of the castle, near the poorer section of the city there is a plaza on the edge of a cliff,"** he started, not bothered at all by her interruption. She knew exactly what plaza he was talking about. It was where Gendry's trial by combat was held. The plaza was between the Red Keep and Flea Bottom, overlooking Blackwater Bay. " **On the cliff, there are notches carved into the stone. You can climb down and you find yourself on the edge of the bay. We walked along the cliffs until a ship spotted us. Then they took us here,"** he said, his face darkening. She felt bad for him. It was perfect. She would be able to sneak into the city, undetected.  **  
**

" **I was bought in White Harbor,** " she told them. Em finally glanced up, surprised with that fact. " **I was a slave for six years,** " she continued, her face darkening. The other two walked over, sitting down. Arya rolled up her sleeve, showing the horrible burned V. " **I know how horrible it is. I was forced to fight in the fighting pits. I—"**

Len, the larger of the other two boys interrupted her. " **You're the Angel of Death!"**  Their eyes widened in shock. 

She was at a loss of words. " **How—I—how did you know that?** " She asked incredulously. She hadn't been called that horrible name in years and she wasn't yearning to go back to it.  _How could they have known?_

Em finally spoke.  " **Master**   **Ti'han hates you. You're a legend among us. The only slave who ever escaped him,** " she said, a smile breaking out on her face. She reached over and grabbed Arya's hand. " **You gave us hope. We grew up with the stories about how you stood up to him, fighting him in the pits. No one lives when they stand up to him. Tala eats them,** " she said, her face clouding with fear.

Arya sighed, pulling her hand away. " **Yes, I was the Angel of Death. I escaped when I had enough of him,** " she said. Her face hardened as she pointed to her scar. " **He gave me this.** " They frowned. " **Do you know anything else?** " She asked. " **Any lords helping?** "

Pak's eyes lit up. " **Ti'han took on some of the knights as his own, along with his Unsullied. He sits on the Iron Throne and they guard him. Everyday, he feeds someone to Tala. A huge one and one with a red beard help him.** **I saw one of them talking with Ti'han, one of the lords. He was a smaller man with brown hair and a bird pin.** " Arya bared her teeth. 

For the first time in a long time, she felt fear.  _No,_ she thought.  _Not him. Anyone but him. Ti'han Volantes sits on the Iron Throne, holding my family hostage._ She straightened her face. " **Thank you,** " she said, smiling at them. She stood up. " **You've told me all I needed to know. I'll make sure you're taken care of.** " They watched as she left the tent. 

 _Ti'han, the Hound, the Mountain, Meryn Trant, Littlefinger,_ she thought.  _My list is growing. Time to shorten it._

* * *

She stormed into Robb's tent. Jon was there, looking over a map on his desk. Theon was also there, shooting his bow into the bull's eye posted on one of the tent's walls. They glanced up in surprise.

"Did you speak with the slaves?" Asked Theon, hitting just outside of the bull's eye. He reached into his quiver and pulled out another arrow, lining it up on the bowstring. 

"Don't call them that!" She snapped, still in a horrible mood. He put his hands up, surrendering. "And yes." She crossed her arms, not giving anymore information.

"Well," said Robb sarcastically, also in a bad mood. He was probably angry that she had embarrassed him in front of his council. He deserved it for agreeing to torture innocent people.  "What did they say?" He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"They don't know how he took over the city. They were transported after," she lied. She had forgotten to ask that. "The Mountain and Meryn Trant are now part of his King's Guard. Littlefinger was the first to betray the King. The man in charge is named Ti'han Volantes. He's the worst possible one to have in charge. He's smart, manipulative, cruel..." She cut herself off, shaking her head. She sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Robb nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Arya." He looked back down at his papers. Jon tapped him on the shoulder, nodding his head towards Arya. 

"What?" She asked defensively. "What is it?"

Robb sighed. "I'm sending you back to Winterfell," he said, placing down the quill he was writing with. 

She shot to her feet. Before she could speak, Jon interrupted. "Arya. It's for the best. You can't control yourself out here. You nearly killed Ramsay Bolton for following an order. We can't have that; not right now. You'll be safe there," he explained, walking towards her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

She shrugged his hand off, glaring at both of them. "I'm not leaving," she said, pointing a finger in his face. "Ti'han Volantes was the one who made my life a living hell for six years. I'm going to be the one who kills him, whether or not you help me," she growled, jabbing her finger into his chest. He took a step back, rubbing the spot where she poked him.

Robb slapped his hand on the table. "Enough, Arya!" He yelled. She jumped, startled with the loud noise. She crossed her arm, glaring. "You're going back to Winterfell if I have to get guards to drag you there!"

She leaned back, stunned into silence. "It's safer, Arya," said Jon. "You do this, you know. You don't agree with something and then you storm off." She opened her mouth to refute this, but Jon kept talking. "You know it's true. You did it with your mother and father, making a scene in front of the King. Yes, you were right, but running away? Start being more responsible, Arya." He shook his head, disappointed. She felt a pang of hurt in her chest with that statement. Why did Jon have to be so...blunt? He was acting like an ass. 

Theon tried to lighten the mood. "You know, it seems like yesterday that you came home from your hunting trip. I promised you archery lessons, you know? I'll give them to you when we all get back to Winterfell." Theon was at least attempting to make her feel better, trying to give her something to look forward to. 

She narrowed her eyes. Without answering she took the bow from his hands, grabbing an arrow from the target. She moved to the end of the tent, pulling back her bowstring and releasing. The arrow thrummed as it flew through the air before splitting the arrow down the middle that was already sitting in the bull's eye. "I don't need archery lessons," she said quietly, glaring. "I need to kill Ti'han Volantes. And that's what I'm going to do."

She dropped the bow and strode from the tent, noticing that the sun had finally set. It was dark enough to go. She whistled for Nymeria, heading towards the cliffs. Before she made it far, a hand grabbed her elbow, whipping her around. Jon stood there, Ghost standing silently beside him. "I know what you're about to do, Arya. It's foolishness. You're going to get them killed!" He yelled. They were in between a few tents. No men were around, seeing as it was dinner time.

She crossed her arms. "I have an entrance, Jon. They'll never detect me. It's dark enough, too. You can't stop me, you know," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Jon frowned down at her, not speaking for a moment.

His face softened. "I know what this is about, Arya. You're on this revenge mission. You don't have to do everything by yourself," he said quietly. Nymeria had finally joined them, sniffing at Ghost. 

She frowned. "All my life, I've been alone. It's easier this way. No one will get killed because of me," she said, thinking about Syrio. She blinked back tears. Her face suddenly hardened. "You don't understand. Ti'han humiliated me, whipping me when I got out of line. You don't know how many people I've killed for him. Innocent ones! Women, cripples, children." She paused, shaking her head. "I need this," she said desperately. "I can help Robb, too. I don't have a plan yet, but when I get into the city, I'll find a way to let you know what's going on."

Jon stubbornly shook his head. "You should be in Winterfell. I can't let you go in there," he said. When she opened her mouth to refute, he held up his hand, silencing her. Nymeria and Ghost started to playfully wrestle. "At least not alone." Her face broke into a grin and she threw her arms around his neck. "I know there's no way of stopping you. At least if I go with you, I can keep you safe." 

She nodded. "Let's go," she said. "Before Robb notices that we're gone." With that, the two took off for the cliff's of King's Landing, their wolfs following behind. 

_Ti'han, the Hound, the Mountain, Meryn Trant, Littlefinger...valar morghulis._


	37. The Brotherhood Without Banners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Jon arrive in King's Landing. After crossing off another name on her list, she finds some friendly faces in the resistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my longest chapters!

It took nearly half an hour for them to reach the cliffs. Their direwolves made sure no one was following behind, occasionally disappearing into the trees. They walked silently, the wolves padding along behind them.  Soon, she made it to the cliffs overlooking Blackwater Bay. She glanced down and saw the waves crashing on the tiny shore below. Since it was low tide and there was a full moon, they didn't need a boat to reach the entrance. She began to check what supplies she had with her. 

She had her two swords (both _Needle_ and _Vengeance_ ), about four smaller blades (one in each boot, one on her hip, one up her left sleeve), a multitude of poisons sitting in a pouch, her coin purse (now a bit lighter, she hated to admit), her dark gray cloak, boiled leather breastplate, and gauntlets. She was prepared to head into the city. Jon moved a bit further away and began to speak with Ghost in a soft voice. 

She scratched Nymeria behind her right ear for a moment. Her leg started to thump on the ground with happiness. The wolf's eyes were squinted shut. "Nymeria," Arya said suddenly. The direwolf opened her large golden eyes, staring directly into Arya's own. "I cannot take you with me into the city. Protect Robb and Theon. And watch over those four escaped slaves." A whine started to come out of her. "I wish I could sneak you in there with me. But you're not exactly inconspicuous. I'll warg into you when we should start the attack. Keep your cousins around. Stay safe, girl," said Arya, burying her face into Nymeria's dark gray fur. Nymeria started to cry, licking Arya's face. Arya pulled away, moving to the edge of the cliff. "Go, Nymeria." The wolf took one last look at her before bounding a back off into the woods. Ghost followed behind. 

"Here," she said, pointing to a jut out in the cliff. In this area, the cliffs were smaller than near the castle. Jon nodded, and gestured for her to go first. Arya started to climb down, wishing she were like Bran. She was worried she would slip—especially because it was night. But the moon provided ample light were she could see hand holds. A few times, her feet slipped, her hands scrambling to find a grip in the rocks. They made it down, landing on the the thin, rocky shore of the bay. Jon climbed down a few seconds after her, releasing a shaky breath. 

He shot her a grin, "I really wish I were like Bran," he said. She let out a laugh, thinking the same exact thing. They were lucky that it was low tide and that they had enough room to walk. Normally, the ocean would cover this beach. They saw small tide pools filled with fish and other creatures. They made their way in the direction of the Red Keep. She pulled up her hood as she went.

They walked for nearly half an hour, feet slipping at the muddy rocks. They spoke a few times, mostly keeping to silence. Voices carried over the open water. Although they did not see any patrol ships, she was still worried that someone would hear them. Finally, she thought she found the right spot. She was lucky that it was low tide tonight, allowing them to walk along the tiny, rocky beach. She glanced up, seeing the dizzying height of the cliff. She felt the smooth stones worn down by the sea, finally finding rungs of a ladder carved into the dark stone. And then she started to climb.

When she was halfway up, she made the mistake of looking down. Jon looked up at her. He was sticking out his tongue with concentration. When they were younger, Bran had told her that the mistake every climber made was to look down. Dizziness started to fill her head, her stomach turning up and down. Her breath quickened. They were nearly two hundred feet up at this point, still having quite a bit to go. _Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ she told herself, thinking of Syrio. Finally, she made it to the top, pulling herself over the balcony. She panted with the effort, sitting down next to the wall.

There as no time to rest. She could hear the stomping feet of the Unsullied. Ti'han must have guards patrolling the streets at night, looking for signs of trouble. She grabbed Jon's elbow, pressing a finger to her lips. She adjusted the hood on her head, quickly walking in the direction of Flea Bottom. Before they made their way into the castle, she wanted to find out more about who was alive and dead. 

She stayed in the shadows, next to the buildings. Jon followed behind her, not asking any questions. She realized where she was; right near the Street of Silk. She suddenly stopped. _Littlefinger_ , she thought. She could pay him a visit, seeing as he was on her list. She adjusted her grip on her sword and took off in the direction of it. She started to move faster once she heard hooves clomping on the cobbled streets. 

She made her way into an ally next to his building. It was one of the larger, well maintained brothels. Littlefinger had made quite the business out of exploiting young women. She knew which building it was because Robert had pointed it out to Tyrion before, mentioning how pretty the girls were. Tywin's face has hardened when he heard it, glancing at Cersei. Her face was set in stone as she stared ahead, clenching her reigns a bit tighter. At the moment, Arya almost felt bad for her, as she was locked in a marriage with a man she obviously hated. But that was before Gendry's trial by combat. "This is Littlefinger's building," she whispered to Jon. "Stay here. I need to ask him a few questions," she said.

He grabbed her arm. He looked at her with concern, tightening his grip. "I'm not letting you go in there alone. He's going to recognize you!" He hissed as she walked towards a clothesline, jumping up and pulling off an old, hole filled cloak. She dropped her own, pulling this one around her. 

She rolled her eyes, changing her face to pretty girl's. This one had blonde hair and brown eyes that were hollowed into her face, giving her a look of starvation. Although she was pretty, she looked as if she had been on the streets for a while. His mouth dropped open in shock. "Faceless Man, stupid!" She said, pointing at her face as she rolled her eyes. "Besides. You can't climb that well. You nearly slipped three times on the cliff."

Before he could say anything else, she swung herself onto a windowsill. She reached the top floor, silently pulling herself inside one of the windows leading to the hallway. She tiptoed through the hall, sticking her back against the wall. She heard the moans of men and women, wrinkling her face at the sound. She walked to where she guessed Littlefinger's office would be. It had a large, oak door with candlelight shining under. She peeked through the key hole, seeing Littlefinger's head.

She straightened her back, timidly knocking three times. "Come in," he called out.

Littlefinger sat there, a quill in his hand. He had his back turned to her.  _Perfect_ , she thought, a small smile growing on her face. She slowly pulled her cloak around herself, covering her blades. He stopped what he was doing, putting down the quill.

"Ros, I've told you a countless number of times not to disturb me at night," he said irritably. He harshly turned his chair around, surprise showing on his face. "Who the hell are you?" He spat out, shooting to his feet.

She put her head down, looking at her shoes. "Ros let me in, m'lord," she meekly said, trying to sound as nervous as possible. "I asked if...if you had any jobs available."

Littlefing smiled at, sitting back down. He folded his hands over the back of his head. "As a matter of fact, I do. One of my girls just gave birth," he said with disgust. "What's your name, my dear?"

She glanced down again. "Elisa, m'lord," she said quietly.

"Are you a virgin?" He asked bluntly, eyes raking down her body.

She made her eyes water and her chin wobble. "No!" She finally sobbed out, dropping to her knees and burying her face in her hands. "I—During the siege," she said, pausing for a moment as she let out a loud sob. "Some of the sellswords—I didn't want to! My father, he kicked me out, saying he didn't want a filthy whore in his house." She said, forcing herself to cry more. Her shoulders shook up and down. 

"Shhhhh," said Littlefinger, walking over to her as he handed her a handkerchief, hands traveling down her back. She almost stabbed him then and there. "It's not your fault. Many of my girls come here after unfortante experiences like your own. I can protect you from the sell swords. When they come here, I can make sure they stay away from you. King Ti'han owes me a favor." He said triumphantly. "I helped him take the city."

 _That's what I needed to hear,_ she thought as she quickly pulled _Vengeance_ out of its sheath, tackling him to the ground. She pinned him with her knees, holding the blade to his throat.  "Stay quiet and I won't kill you," she said, gripping his shoulder. "I just want to ask some questions."

He nodded, swallowing slightly. She pointed the blade at his neck. He had his hands up, surrendering. "I'm guessing you're not Elisa," he said. 

She frowned. He was oddly calm for a man with an assassin in his room. "Which nobles are imprisoned?" She interrogated. She wanted to know which ones they allowed to walk free in the castle.

"The men are kept in the Black Keep," he said. "No one is dead yet. Only the Queen and Crown Prince. The executions are set for tomorrow."

"Where and who?" She growled, pressing the sword deeper into his neck. 

"The Dragonpit," he said. "The King, the Hand, even Ned Stark." He seemed a bit happy when he said her father's name. Why? She wondered. Then she remembered something one of the Small Council members said to Littlefinger. It was about her mother. He had loved her as a child, jealous that her father got to marry her. Of course the invasion was planned while her family was at the capital! Littlefinger wanted to kill her father so he could marry her mother. That was why he was helping Ti'han!

"You've been very helpful," she said. She cocked her head to the side. "Do you know who I am?" She asked, knowing he wouldn't answer. He stared at her blankly, eyes widening in shock when she changed her face back to her own. "I'm Arya Stark," she growled. "You planned for this to happen while my father was in the capital so you could have another chance with my mother." She poked the sword a bit into his neck, the Valyrian Steep puncturing his skin. Blood dripped down his neck. "I don't like people who hurt my family," she growled. "I promised not to kill you. But you know what they say in Braavos; valar morghulis."

He opened his mouth to scream as she decapitated him with one clean stroke. She wiped the blade on his clothes, slipping it back into her sheath. His head rolled onto the floor. Blood spurted out of the stump where his head once was. She stepped back, trying to avoid it. She surveyed the scene, seeing an empty bag laying on his desk. A sinister grin grew on her face. She picked up the head, placing it in the bag.  _A gift for Ti'han_ , she thought.  _Ti'han, the Hound, Meryn Trant, the Mountain,_  she thought. 

She swung the bag over her shoulder, blowing out the candle. She then climbed out the window, finding hand holds in the building. She landed on her feet, meeting Jon on the street below. "Well?" He asked. "What did you find out?"

"Executions start tomorrow," she said as she put on her own cloak, throwing the one she used in the direction of the clothesline. It was covered with blood. "In the Dragonpit."

Jon glanced at her warily, handing her a cloth as he gestured towards her face. She realized that she was probably covered with blood. "What did you do with him?" He asked, really not wanting to know the answer. 

She held up the bag with a smile. "I took his head," she said. Jon's face hardened. "Oh relax! He was a disgusting, horrible man. The city will be better off without him. He wanted to kill father just so he could sleep with mother." Jon shook his head, hating how bloodthirsty she was. If only he had seen her while she was a fighting slave or a Faceless Man. "Come on," she said. "Let's head towards Flea Bottom." They walked towards the area, keeping to the shadows. 

However, before they could go any further, a hand clamped down over her mouth as she was roughly pulled into an alley. She heard Jon struggling beside her. She was lifted off her feet, kicking and struggling to no avail. Whoever was holding her was large and extremely strong. She couldn't break her arms free. Just as she was about to bite down she heard, "Shut up, wolf bitch! Unless you want them to hear!" She stopped struggling, hanging in his arms. 

Two men were in front of her. She squinted, recognizing the figures in front of her. The bald head and dwarf were tell tale signs for Varys, the spider, and Tyrion Lannister. "Lady Arya, do you promise to keep quiet?" Sighed Varys, glancing at her as if she was a spoiled child. She nodded slightly and he gestured to whoever was holding her. She was set down; she whipped around, pulling out _Needle_ so it would not make a sound. She also slipped a dagger into her hand. 

Standing in front of her was the Hound. Another man was holding a knife to Jon's throat. "You!" She hissed. "Let him go," she said darkly. Just as she was about to stick him with the pointy end, thinking about crossing off another name on her list, there was a tug at her elbow.

"Arya, please," said Tyrion. "Let him go," he said to the other man. He nodded, pushing Jon away. Jon rubbed at his neck, glaring. "He is on our side. One of the only ones, actually." She ignored him, glaring at the Hound who shot her a mocking smile. Tyrion noticed he was getting nowhere. "He helped your sister, you know. When the siege started, he saved her from some of the sell swords that monster hired. Your family owes him a debt. If you kill him now, she'll never forgive you."

She curiously glanced at him, lowering her blades. She slipped _Needle_ back in her belt but kept the other in her hand. "Fine," she muttered, looking at the ground. "You didn't have to do that, you know!" She said angrily. "Scared me half to death," she muttered.

"I apologize, my lady, but it was safer that way. We needed to make sure it was you," said Lord Varys, glancing at her curiously. He turned his head towards Jon. He was standing beside her, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm Jon Snow," he said, introducing himself. "Tyrion and I have met before. You must be Lord Varys and the Hound." Arya glanced at him with surprise; he must keep up with gossip to know who the two were. Varys nodded with a tilt of his head and the Hound simply grunted. 

The other man smiled. She noticed that his tooth was chipped, probably from a bad fight. "Name's Bronn," he said, giving a slight wave. "Tyrion hired me for some help. I worked with the other sell swords for a while, but this one pays better," he said, gesturing towards Tyrion. 

Tyrion smiled, sticking out his hand. Jon shook it, a smile on his face. "Being a Lannister does have its perks. Decided not to take the black, eh?" He patted Jon's elbow. "Good decision! I can't imagine spending my life in that frozen wasteland."

"Even with all of my little birds, none noticed you slip out of King's Landing. How?" Asked Varys, dying to know. It must be killing him not to know how she got out of the city, undetected.

She grinned. "A good mummer never reveals her secret," she said, shrugging slightly. Then she got right down to business. "Is my family still alive?" She asked, determined.

The three glanced at each other and her heart nearly stopped. "Yes," said Tyrion after a moment. "But not for long. The major executions start tomorrow. Your father, the King, my father, my brother...all are set to be killed." 

Arya frowned. "Littlefinger told me," she said, noticing blood in her fingernails. 

They glanced at each other. "Littlefinger?" Growled the Hound. "You've met with that traitor?"

She pulled out the head by the hair, holding it up. "It was a pretty short meeting," she said. Tyrion looked green and Varys raised an eyebrow. Bronn and the Hound started to laugh. She placed it back in the bag, wiping the blood on her pants. Jon's face hardened as he studied the cobblestones at his feet.

It was good news that they were still alive but she had such little time to work with. Before she could open her mouth, Varys interrupted her. "If I may...let us move somewhere more private. You can see one of your old friends, Lady Arya." He had a sly smile on his face as he started to walk towards the main street. The Hound and Bronn immediately took off after him, leaving her and Tyrion behind.

They started to walk up the large hill, towards the best shops on the street. Jon walked next to them, looking at all of the buildings with awe. He had never been to King's Landing before. This was probably the first time he had left Winterfell. "Is it true?" She asked Tyrion after a moment. "Did he save my sister?"

Tyrion blinked at her with his mismatched eyes. "Yes, Arya. She would have been raped and killed if it wasn't for him." She nodded slightly, lowering her head. 

 _Ti'han, the Hound, Meryn Trant, the Mountain,_ she thought.  _No. Ti'han, Meryn Trant, the Mountain. Not the Hound. I will ask Sansa. If what they say is true, then we are even._

They finally arrived at the top of the hill at Tobho Mott's shop. Gendry! She couldn't hide the smile that was starting to grow on her face. But in the pit of her stomach, she also felt nervous. Would he want to see her? Last time they had been together, he refused to run away with her. Varys raised his hand onto the door, knocking seven times exactly to the tune of one of Tom of Sevenstream's songs. The door opened and they entered, locking the door behind them. 

Her eyes finally adjusted to the candlelight. Nine men sat in the small room, their eyes wide open in shock. No one said anything for a moment. She then lowered her hood, blinking at them in silence. 

Gendry shot to his feet. "Arry!" He yelled in a whisper. He wasn't wearing his normal attire, instead donning chain mail he must have made himself under a worn, brown shirt. On a table, sat the finished bull helmet he was forging when she had left. He was extremely proud of it, refusing to sell. On his hip, sat a large war hammer. In a few short steps, he crossed the room, grabbing her and kissing her. She melted into it, moving closer to him as he grabbed at the small of her back. He broke apart the kiss, studying her face. "Why—how—are you—"

She started laughing before he could stutter anymore. "I came back," she said with a grin. "And it's Arya. I remember, Gendry. I remember it all," her smile grew larger.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend?" Said a larger man with golden-red hair. He wore all black with a forked purple lightning sigil on his chest. He had an eyepatch over one eye. Gendry dropped his arms, stepping away from Arya.

"Lads, this is Lady Arya—"

"—Not a lady," muttered Arya, interrupting him.

"Arya Stark of Winterfell," said Gendry. He looked down at her and said, "You know I'm still going to call you Arry, right?"

She nodded, accepting with a smile. "Arry!" Yelled Hot Pie, the others shushing him. He ran over, picking her up and crushing her with a hug. "You're back!" Hot Pie set her down, grinning at her. Arya looked at him with surprise, wondering why he was a part of the resistance. Hot Pie wasn't a hero, he was a coward. She guessed they needed all of the men they could get. 

Jon came over, crossing his arms and glaring at Gendry. He was working the muscles in his jaw, angry that she had just kissed him. "Gendry," she said. "This is my brother, Jon. Jon, this is Gendry." There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Gendry stuck out his hand. Jon didn't move for a second. Arya nudged him. 

He then took his hand, squeezing quite hard. Arya could tell that Gendry wanted to wince but instead squeezed back harder. "I heard you saved her life," said Jon. "From that prick Joffrey." Gendry nodded, pulling back his hand. Jon then smiled and patted his shoulder. "Thanks for protecting her." 

Lem Lemoncloak came over, grinning down at her. "The little killer's back!" He mussed up her hair and she shot him a fake glare. 

Tom and Anguy also came over, grins on their faces. "I wrote a song about you, Arry!" Nearly every person in the room rolled their eyes at the same time. He strummed his harp, clearing his voice. " _There once was a girl_ —"

"—For the love of the gods, Tom, please stop singing! My ears are bleeding!" Hissed Anguy, covering his ears. Tom muttered under under his breath but lowered his harp. 

"Arya Stark," said a fat man in long, flowing red robes. "One of Lord Stark's children?" He asked.

"Yes," said Tyrion, pouring himself a goblet of wine. "She returned from the dead." Arya guessed he decided not to elaborate. "Arya, that is Lord Berric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr," he said, pointing to each of the men. Berric was the one with the eye patch and Thoros the fat priest. Arya was sure that she had heard stories of them, saving the Riverlands from bandits or something like that. She never really paid attention. What was their group called again?

Thoros reached out his arms. "We are the Brotherhood without Banners, the resistance in King's Landing! That spoiled slaver has been declaring himself king. There is only one true king: Robert Baratheon!" The men muttered in agreement. 

"Varys, any word on where the executions will be taking place?" Asked Berric, leaning forward slightly. All the men looked earnestly towards Varys, hoping to find out some news. 

He nodded. "Volantes has a flair for the theatrics," said Varys, sitting down in one of the chairs near the forge, crossing his ankles. "He's opening a fighting pit here in King's Landing. He is using the Dragonpit. They held of the executions for weeks while repairing the collapses. He has been using his slaves to build seating around the area, creating a sort of colosseum."

Arya growled out, "Of course he would." She closed her eyes, remembering the Daznak's Pit. She tightly clenched _Vengeance's_ hilt. 

All the eyes in the room turned on her. "What do you mean?" Asked Thoros. 

She sighed, rolling up her sleeve. She showed the burned "V" on her shoulder. Their eyes widened in shock, Gendry placing a hand on her shoulder. "I was the best fighting slave he had. I'm going to kill him," she said, determination flashing on her face. "We need to tell the troops outside to start their siege when we launch an attack on the pits." 

"How do you suggest we do that?" Asked Tyrion, finishing off his glass of wine. "We haven't had any contact with the troops for weeks." 

Arya smiled. "All I need is a bird," she said. She picked up a bag on the floor. She stood up, heading towards the door. "I'll be back. Figure out a plan for tomorrow to get the gates open." She left the forge, heading towards the Great Sept of Baelor. 

* * *

Pigeons nested on top of the Great Sept at night. During the day, the crowded the plaza, begging for food. When she guarded Tywin, Joffrey would throw corn on the ground. When the pigeons went to eat it, he would shoot them with his crossbow. Robert would laugh at him, Cersei covering up her distaste with a tight smile. Tywin would simply tell Joffrey that he was a cruel idiot and Ayra agreed; it was disgusting. 

She didn't head straight through the plaza, instead climbing onto the roof of a building a few blocks over. She took off her boots so her feet would not make any sounds. When she glanced onto the main street, she noticed Unsullied troops patrolling. She crouched lower to the rooftops, nearly crawling. When she finally reached the sept, she had to run and leap. Her fingers grasped at the smooth white marble. After a moment of hanging, she pulled herself up. She creeped towards the pigeon's next, pulling out a small bag. When she found a pigeon she wanted, she snatched it, shoving it into the bag. It struggled, squawking and flapping its wings for a moment before going still. She slung it over her shoulder, climbing down and jogging back towards the Street of Steel. 

When she finally made it up the big hill, she was out of breath. She nearly ran into a group of Unsullied, turning a corner at the last minute. There were more troops than she had anticipated stationed throughout the city. She knocked the same way Varys had a couple of hours before, glancing behind her shoulder to make sure no one else was around. She was surprised at how empty the streets were; although it was the middle of the night, sometimes people walked around. It was a city, after all. Ti'han must have instilled a curfew.

The door opened and she slipped inside. The men were in smaller groups, looking at maps of the city. She headed over to a smaller table in the back of the room, taking some parchment, string, ink, and a quill. She began to write her note. 

 

> _They're alive. Executions are set for tomorrow in the Dragonpit. Begin your attack at the Dragon Gate and Old Gate when Nymeria tells you. Have your ships start the attack on the bay at the same time. You will know when._
> 
> _-Underfoot_

She didn't sign her name because if the bird was shot down, they would not punish the Starks. She instead used her childhood nickname (Arya was always in the way, thus earning the nickname Arya Underfoot. Sansa and Jeyne Poole also called her Arya Horseface, saying she looked like a horse. She hated that one).

Gendry came over. "We are launching an attack on the Dragon Gate tomorrow," he said. "Once the troops start attacking. At the same time, we'll be sending another group to stop the executions. We have more men outside this group. The Brotherhood will contact them tomorrow morning, letting them know that we are going to be attacking. That one will include myself, your brother, and you. I thought you would want to be a part of it." 

She simply nodded, pulling out the bird from the back and holding it by the neck. It started flapping its wings, trying to fly away. Arya almost grew so frustrated with it that she snapped its neck. She calmed herself down, not wanting to find another bird. "Tie that to its leg," she said to Gendry, nodding at the parchment.

He took it, rolling the thin strip of paper and neatly tying it the bird's leg. "That's not a raven," he said. "How are you going to get it to fly to the troops?"

She shot him a mischievous smile. "Watch and learn, Gendry. I just need some quiet. And open a window."

Gendry complied, hushing everyone in the room and opening a window. All eyes turned curiously towards her. She closed her eyes, focusing on warging into the bird. Once she felt her eyes starting to roll into the back of her head, she threw the bird in the air. At the same moment, she was in complete control. There some gasps in the room (she even thought she heard someone mutter "Northern witch").  She flew high over King's Landing's clay roofs, heading towards the North. 

It took her awhile to reach the area. Tobho Mott's shop was at the south end of the city, near the Great Sept of Baelor. She made sure she flew over a less reinforced section of the wall, hoping they would not shoot her down. The soldiers guarding it paid no attention to her. She headed straight for the tents set up a mile outside the city. Once she saw the Stark's banners, she flew to the largest tent in the area. She recognized it as Robb's. 

She flew inside, slipping through the top posts. There was a small hole she squeezed through. She flew right next to his bed, cooing quite loudly. Robb jumped away, fumbling for a candle. When he finally lit it, he muttered, "What in Seven Hells?" He squinted at the bird, taking a few minutes to notice the slip of paper.

Arya stayed still, kicking out the tiny foot a bit, gesturing for him to take it. Robb reached forward, grabbing the parchment and reading it. He mouthed the words slightly, smiling a bit when he noticed that she signed it "Underfoot".

He glanced at the bird, not sure what to do. Then he spoke. "I don't know how you managed this, Arya. You must be like Bran. But, alright then. I trust your judgement. When Nymeria tells—"

That message was cut short because at the same time, Grey Wind growled and leaped. She saw his golden eyes, silver face, and sharp teeth before he swallowed the bird in one gulp. Arya opened her eyes and gasped, her heart beating loudly. 

Jon was next to her in an instant. "Are you alright?" He asked, glancing at her hand that gripped the edge of the table.

She nodded, taking calming breaths. "He knows. They'll launch the attack when we get to the Dragonpit. Is everything settled?" She asked.

Varys came over, nodding, "Everything is in place, my lady. Tyrion and I will go back to the castle. We will see you tomorrow at the pits. May the Warrior give you strength and courage."

Arya politely nodded but thought _, I don't need the Warrior. The only god I need on my side is Death. Ti'han, the Mountain, Meryn Trant. Valar morghulis._

* * *

After most of the men left, the remaining members of the Brotherhood headed to the apprentice's quarters to sleep. Jon saw that Arya and Gendry wanted to be alone. He begrudgingly left, shooting Gendry a warning glance. When he shut the door softly behind him, Arya realized that they were finally alone. She walked over to one of the display tables, looking at her reflection in the bull helmet. 

Gendry walked up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. He began to place kisses on her neck as she tilted her head to the side, breathing heavily. She wrapped her own arms around Gendry's, leaning into his embrace. She closed her eyes as he murmured, "I've missed you so much, Arry." He started to move up her neck, sucking on her earlobe. 

With that sentence, she suddenly felt rage. Her eyes flashed open as she quickly turned around, placing two hands on his chest and giving him a shove. She placed her hands on her hips as he stumbled backwards. Scowling, she said, "You broke my heart, Gendry Waters! Why didn't you come with me?"

He scowled back, crossing his arms over his chest. As always, his black hair hung messily in his face as his electric blue eyes met her own. She glanced at his chest and toned arms, wondering if he had gotten more muscular since she'd left. _Focus, Arya!_ She scolded herself. 

He stepped towards her, backing her up against a table as he placed both arms besides her. She had never seen his gaze so intense before. With his breath hot on her face, he asked, "Why did you run away? And you broke my heart too!" Instead of just sounding angry, he also sounded defensive. She then realized that her decision to leave must have hurt him as much as her.

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. Sighing, she said, "I couldn't stand the fact that my family was basically selling me." Her voice sounded tired and defeated. "I've already been sold once. I won't let it happen again."

"Oh, Arry," said Gendry as he grabbed her face and kissed her. She leaned into him, pulling off her cloak, running her fingers through his thick hair. She guided his hands to pull off her shirt. He then ripped off his own, throwing it on a ball to the floor. He quickly picked her up, a squeak sounding in the back of her throat as she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. He placed her on the table behind them as she ran her hands down his firm chest. She started to unlace his trousers. 

She pulled back, shooting him a grin. "We have until dawn," she said with a mischievous smile. He responded by kissing her again, which she was happy to return. 


	38. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa remembers the siege. Arya, Gendry, and Jon head to the Dragon Pit for the executions. Arya sees Ti'han again for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See if you notice my Gladiator reference!

**Sansa POV**

Sansa hadn't slept well in weeks. Ever since the siege, she found herself staring at the ceiling until night turned into day. Today was no different. As she lay in her bed, she watched as the sun began to creep through the windows, showing her that it was finally dawn. As it got brighter and brighter, a feeling of dread grew in her stomach. Today was the day that her father would be executed.

They took over the city in a few hours. The way his army fought; Sansa watched the siege on Blackwater Bay from the Red Keep. Ti'han Volantes hired Unsullied and sellswords to help him capture King's Landing. The attack came as a shock and the city had nearly no time to fight back. Littlefinger made matters worse by paying off all of the Gold Cloaks, leaving the city with few soldiers. Sansa had heard that they had been sending men into the city for years, waiting for the right moment to strike. Her father, his household guards, the King, his brother, and the Hand joined the fight. She hadn't seen them since. 

She closed her eyes as that horrible night flashed through them. During the siege, Sansa was nearly raped by a group of sellswords. She left the other highborn women and the safety of Maegor's Holdfast to save Lady and Summer. Her mother screamed after her but was held back by a few of the handmaidens. Cersei merely laughed, sloshing her wine as she told Sansa that she better run fast. She ran through the deserted castle, headed straight for the kennels. She and Bran planned to set them free as soon as the siege started so that if they were captured, they would not be killed. Bran knew a way out through one of the sewer pipes and was already warged into Summer. Once she opened their pen, he two wolves bounded off towards the Black Cells, Sansa watching. Lady whined a bit, pausing to look back. Summer was able to nudge her along. It was there where she was corned by a group of four men who had made it into the castle. As they pinned her to the ground, starting to rip off her clothes, her knight in shining armor appeared.

He was no knight at all. The Hound killed the men faster than she could blink, hoisting her to her feet and asking if she was alright. She nodded numbly, still in shock. He shoved her in the direction of the Maegor's Holdfast, barking at her to run. She complied, glancing over her shoulder and watching him run in the opposite direction. She had no idea if he was still alive. 

That was nearly a month ago and she had met Ti'han since then. They called him the Tiger King, for his bronze skin, golden eyes, and pet tiger (obviously). He was cruel enough to be one. Sansa had been forced to dine with him many times during the month. He treated the nobles very well, sitting on the Iron Throne with his pet tiger at his feet. He lined them up in the Great Hall, telling them he would not hesitate to feed them to Tala. Then he had the Queen and the Crowned Prince dragged out. He laughed as the tiger ripped them to shreds, telling the Unsullied to mount their heads on spikes. She had nearly thrown up. Most of the men were taken to the Black Cells, a few remaining to hear the speech. Although she tried to focus on the words, all she noticed were the slaves. All were quiet, skirting around with their eyes on the floor. Most had whip marks on their backs. But none had as many as Arya. 

Arya had the same scar. The horrible "V" burned into their shoulders, marking them as Ti'han Volatnes's property. Her parents had mentioned that Arya had said she grew up as a slave before running away. Now Sansa knew how horrible her master was. She hadn't been seen in over a month, and Sansa hoped to keep it that way. Even though she was annoyed at her for embarrassing them in front of the royal family, she worried about her. Her parents said that she left the wolf ring, telling them she would never remember. It was just like Arya to run away. At least she would be safe.

Ti'han had waited on the executions because he wanted to have them in King's Landing's new fighting pits. It was the old Dragon Pit. He had it restored, using the common people as slaves. Now the construction was complete. He was going to have them battle to the death. All the nobles would be forced to attend.

Her mother was a wreck. Both Sansa and Bran tried everyday to get her out of her room. Most of the time, they struggled to get her to eat. The one time they were able to, they took her for a walk around the gardens. It was a complete disaster. When she saw Littlefinger walking with Ti'han, she slapped him across the face, calling him a traitor. Bran held her back as Sansa immediately apologized, hoping Ti'han would not hurt her. Thankfully, a slave had just broken a glass they were carrying and his anger directed towards them. A sharp knock sounded at her door as a slave entered, brush in hand.

Sansa sighed as she stood up. Nothing good would come from today.

* * *

**Arya POV**

Dawn came faster than she expected. After her and Gendry finished, they made their way over to the others. Arya didn't sleep at all, instead checking her weapons over and over again. She made sure that all the blades were sharpened. She checked both _Needle_ and _Vengeance_ , making sure both had no damage. She almost coated all of them with poison but decided against it; she could cut herself by accident. Instead, she polished them until she could see her reflection. 

She was nervous, to say the least. Actually, she was terrified. Ti'han Volantes was the only person who ever scared her. He made her feel like she was a mouse, not a wolf. For six years of her life, she was beaten, humiliated, and forced to kill at his hands. It was time she repaid the debt by killing him. 

Jon and Gendry both sensed that she was nervous and tried to get her to eat and sleep. She refused, instead choosing to practice her water dancing. She practiced the simple moves that Syrio had first taught her. Standing on one foot, she pulled out _Vengeance_. "Quick as a snake," she whispered, swinging _Vengeance_ around. "Quiet as shadow. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost." She repeated it over and over again, almost reaching a meditative state.

When the sun finally came up, she woke up Jon and Gendry. "It's time," she said solemnly. They silently nodded, getting their things together. Gendry shoved his bull helmet into a bag. He hung a sword on his hip next to his war hammer. He then threw a cloak over his shoulders, hiding his war hammer. 

Jon laced up his boots. He chose to wear his sword on his back because it was too big to wear on his hip. He too had a Valyrian steel blade called  _Longclaw_. She had no idea where he got it; she would have to hear that story sometime. He wielded a two handed sword, just like _Ice_.Arya wondered where her father's sword was. On its hilt, it had a white direwolf with two red garnets in its eyes. Maybe she would ask Gendry to do the same to _Vengeance_. He also wore a cloak to hide his weaponry.  

Arya threw on her boiled leather breastplate, deciding not to wear any other armor. Under it she wore a sleeveless black shirt. Jon told her to wear chain mail, but she refused, saying she moved faster with no armor. And to fight Ti'han, she had to be fast. She hid numerous daggers on her arms, in her boots, and on her hips. She made sure _Needle_ and _Vengeance_ were securely fastened to her sword belt. She wore a dark gray cloak. She also braided her hair, making sure it was out of her face. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror, the scar over her eye standing out. She quickly looked away. On the way out, she grabbed the bag with Littlefinger's head, careful not to open it. It was starting to smell. 

"Ready?" Asked Gendry, standing next to the door. She gave him a slight nod, feeling unprepared.

"It's going to be ok, Arya," reassured Jon. He ruffled her hair, giving her a calming smile. She tried to return it. It ended up being more of a grimace. 

The three walked out of the door, heading towards the Dragon Pit. Her heart was hammering out of her chest.  _Ti'han, the Mountain, Meryn Trant. Valar morghulis._

* * *

Along the way, a few other men joined them. Hot Pie (although Arya had no idea how he'd be any help), Anguy, Lem, Tom...She was happy to have the support. The Dragon Pit was packed with people who were shouting, shoving, and stomping their way through the crowd. They split into smaller groups to head into the arena. Arya gave them all golden dragons so they could pay for seats in the first few rows. That way, they could quickly jump into the pit when it was time. Anguy headed to the highest section of the arena. He was going to be their bowman, picking off any Unsullied that came to stop them. It was a small operation. Maybe too small. But it was all that they had. The rest of the men would attack the guards at the Dragon Gate. Hopefully, the fight in the arena would be enough to distract them. 

They got into the pit easily, shouldering through the crowds. No one collected coin at the door because Ti'han wanted this event to be free. It was a public execution, after all. They were, however, collecting coin for those who wanted to get into the first ten rows. Arya led the way, keeping the hood of her cloak up to hide the scar. She was one of the most recognizable faces in Meereen. Everyone knew who the Angel of Death was.

A slave guarded by two Unsullied blocked the way. Keeping her head down, she dropped a golden dragon into his bag. Jon and Gendry did the same. They were able to find seats in the first row. Arya noticed that they were directly across from the high dais. She clenched her hands into fists, squinting in that direction. She didn't notice if Ti'han was there. She saw the red hair of her mother, Sansa, and Bran. She also saw Tyrion Lannister, Varys, and a few other nobles they allowed to stay free. Ti'han's throne was empty. She suddenly remembered that she had to give Robb the signal.

She closed her eyes, the sound of the crowd growing quieter and quieter in her ears. She struggled a bit for a moment because of the distractions that surrounded her. She focused on slipping into Nymeria's mind. When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting next to Grey Wind, Ghost, Lady, and Summer. She felt stronger with most of the pack together (all except Shaggydog). In front of them lay dozens of wolves, waiting for Nymeria to make her move. Robb was sitting on his warhorse next to her, lines of men behind them. Some were on horses, some were standing. All were wearing armor, tensely waiting for her signal. She noticed the other lords sitting on their horses behind Robb. Robb wore thick plate armor with a dark gray cloak. In his hand, he held a sword.

Arya sat down on her hind legs, throwing her head back. She let out the loudest howl she could, holding it for a few seconds. All of the wolves joined in, creating the loudest howl she had ever heard. They started to stalk out of the woods, following behind her. She then bounded off in the direction of King's Landing, leading the charge. Behind her, she heard Robb shout, "For Winterfell!" He sent his horse into a gallop. A war horn sounded, signaling the start of the siege. Arya slipped out of Nymeria's mind, knowing her work was done.

She whispered to Gendry and Jon, "It's starting." She noticed the crowd murmuring, glancing in the direction of the faint howling. They nodded, glancing in the direction of the dais, noticing that Ti'han was taking his place.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she gripped _Vengeance's_ hilt. He strode up to his throne, waving to the ecstatic crowd. Arya couldn't understand why the people were so happy. He forced many of them into the labor for the pyramid. Then she remembered how Robert and Joffrey treated the people. Ti'han was probably keeping them well fed and happy right now to avoid any rebellions.

She remembered every beating he gave her, starting with the first burn to the shoulder. She remembered him killing Syrio, forcing her to fight in the pits the next day. She remembered her first kill, how terrified and unprepared she was. She remembered getting her new collar, being forced to bow down to him. She remembered the whippings, the humiliation, the deaths. She remembered the crowd's cheers. "Angel! Angel! Angel of Death!" Most of all, she remembered her last fight with him. She reached up and traced the scar over her eye. 

People began to file into the floor of the pit. This was the opening match, not the execution. She noticed that most of these men weren't slaves. Instead, they volunteered to fight to the death. She would never understand it. They were fighters from around the world. She noticed Unsullied, a water dancer (she took his appearance as a personal insult; Braavos was one of the free cities), Meereenese, Westerosi, and countless others. Ti'han clapped his hands, signaling for them to start. The crowd roared with excitement as her stomach flipped inside of her.

It was a relatively quick match. In fact, Arya wondered if it was staged. Meereen's champion came out as victor, slaying the Westerosi knight with a spear to the throat. She wondered if Ti'han planned for those two to be left, showing that Meereen was more powerful than Westeros. The crowd hissed and booed, wanting the knight to win. Arya didn't care either way; both of them were idiots. Two small slave girls ran out, dressing the winner with flowers and a golden cup. Ti'han stood up, clapping. He then walked to the edge of the balcony, holding his hands up to silence the crowd. 

His voice echoed across the arena. "Today marks the dawn of a new dynasty! The dragons fell, now the stags have fallen. This is the dynasty of the tiger!" He yelled, the crowd cheering in agreement. "King Robert let you starve in the streets, the nobles spitting on you as you walked by. It is time that they pay for their crimes!" Arya glanced towards Jon and Gendry. They pulled off their cloaks, waiting for Arya to make her move. Gendry placed his bull helm on his head. "Bring them out!" He shouted, snapping his fingers.

A large gate opened, Unsullied shoving a group of men out. She noticed her father, the King, Tywin Lannister, Jaime Lannister, and Stannis Baratheon. All were in horrible shape, her father in the worst. He was leaning on Robert, his face pale and haggard. They had been spending their time in the Black Cells. Eddard's leg looked broken as it was in a disgusting looking cast. Ti'han snapped his fingers again, the Unsullied leaving the arena with spears pointed towards the men. They were standing close together in the center of the arena, waiting for Ti'han to kill them. 

Another gate opened directly below Ti'han, three large tigers stalking out. Tala was not one of them. The large orange and black creatures were stalking towards the men. "This is what tigers do to those who do not bow!" Yelled Ti'han.

"Now!" Hissed Arya as she leaped from her seat, heading directly over the railing. She landed in the blood soaked sand softly on her feet, her knees bent. She slowly rose, making sure her hood was still up. The crowd murmured with uncertainty as Gendry and Jon landed behind her, Gendry stumbling slightly. Ti'han rose from his throne, face clouded with anger and confusion. 

The nobles turned around, finally noticing the three behind them. They all looked extremely relieved to see her there. All except her father. The tigers were getting closer and closer. Arya unsheathed _Vengeance_ , striding towards the center. Gendry and Jon followed, both placing their weapons in their hands. As she passed the group of men, she heard her father weakly call out, "Arya? What are you doing?"

She ignored him, instead focusing on the task ahead. "Allow me," she said, gripping the blade of her sword. She spun it in her hand, striding forward. She held up right arm, making a fist. That was her signal to Aunguy. He fired two arrows, striking two of the beasts directly in the heart. As the third leapt for her, she shoved _Vengeance_ into its stomach and then sliced off its head. She gutted the beast, its intestines falling onto the ground. The crowd silenced, stunned with her display. She gave a mocking bow to the dais. 

Arya lowered the hood of her cloak, unclasping it. It fell to the ground around her feet. "Are you not entertained?" She shouted at the crowd. Ti'han was screaming commands at the Unsullied, telling them to get into the pits. At this point, Hot Pie, Tom, and Lem had joined them. 

She turned to face Jon. "Get them out of here. I'll end this." Before they could make a move, a large group of Unsullied entered the arena, shields and swords pointed towards them. Leading the group was the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. With his huge sword in hand, he approached them. Wordlessly, Gendry lowered the visor on his helm and handed Jaime Lannister his extra sword.

Jon was suddenly beside her, sword in hand. He swung it in his hand, shooting Arya a worried look. "Out of the flaming pot, into the fire," he said. Arya couldn't agree more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your support! Two more chapters left. I can't believe it.


	39. The Wolf and the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Ti'han battle for one last time.

As the Mountain approached them, Arya bit her lip. She nervously tightened her grip on her sword, glancing back towards the dais. Ti'han had sat down again, watching the fight with some amusement. He hadn't recognized her yet. It was too far to see her scar. Her features hardened with determination.  _He'll recognize my water dancing soon enough_ , she thought. The Angel of Death was the most famous Braavosi water dancer in Meereen. Ti'han had watched her fight for years; there was no way he wouldn't recognize her fighting..  _  
_

Ser Jaime was soon at her side. "Good to see you again, Stark," he said jokingly, flashing her a white grin. Although he was in the Black Cells for weeks, his skin was still golden, his hair nearly perfect. Arya couldn't understand why he was smiling. He was just about to fight the Mountain, for Gods' sake!

She ignored him. "Jaime and I will take on the Mountian!" She commanded, glancing towards Jon. She wanted the most skilled fighter with her. "Jon, Gendry, Lem, and Tom, you hold back the Unsullied. The rest of you, stay close to the others!" She snapped, giving them a warning glance.

The Mountain was finally in striking range. With a roar, he swung down his huge blade, Arya and Jaime diving away to avoid being sliced in half. He really was a mountain of a man, standing at over seven feet and built with all muscle. His armor must have cost a fortune to make. He wore a large helm and wielded a two handed sword, just like her father's blade. But his was much bigger.  _Good_ , thought Arya.  _That makes him slower._

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gendry swing his huge war hammer with one hand, nailing one Unsullied on the side of his head. Jon was cutting through them with ease. She felt a moment of relief, glancing behind her and seeing the others protecting those without weapons. 

Jaime parried a few times with the Mountain, managing to distract him for a moment. With that opening, Arya darted forward and sliced through his calf with _Vengeance_. Most men would fallen with that pain, but the Mountain merely growled and turned to her, swinging his sword down at her head.

She raised _Vengeance_ , blocking the blow. The steel loudly rang, vibrations running through her arm. It went numb for a moment and she nearly dropped the blade in shock. She soon realized that the Mountain was pure power. She told herself, _Swift as a deer,_  she thought, jabbing her sword forward as she sliced the Mountain's arm. _Quiet as shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake._  As the Mountain swung his blade down at her, she quickly rolled out of the way, the sword stabbing into the sand. _Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear._  She raised her arm, blocking the Mountain's blow. _Fierce as a wolverine._  Arya gritted her teeth as she smoothy jabbed towards his stomach. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

 _Don't hack and hammer, Arya,_ she told herself.  _Make Syrio proud. Dance your water dance._

And she did. She spun out of the way, turning around quickly and extending her arm out. This time, she caught the Mountain on his left arm. It was a deep cut right in the chink of his armor. He roared in pain, quickly attempting to chop off her head. She ducked, stabbing him in the stomach when she stood again. The Valyrian steel didn't make it too far but it did some damage. The crowd roared with approval. 

Jaime stepped in, stabbing at his shoulder. Arya's eyes widened in shock. The move was too risky, as Jaime quickly lost his balance. Before she could help him, the Mountain swung his blade down with two hands, chopping off Jaime's outstretched hand. This gave Arya an opening to step forward and drive _Vengeance_ through his neck. The Mountain fell to his knees, Arya planting her foot on his chest to pull out the blade. He collapsed backwards, blood spurting out of his neck as he breathed his last breath.

"Valar morghulis," she muttered, grabbing Jaime by his collar. He was screaming in pain, clutching at the stump where his hand once was. She kicked the blade towards the others, Tywin stepping forward and picking it up. He nodded his thanks, dragging his son by the arm back towards the others, worry etched on his face. She was still pissed at him for not helping Gendry, but she felt pity for him. His daughter was killed, his son was maimed. The only undamaged child he had left was the one he hated the most.

She took a deep breath, shifting _Vengeance_ from her left hand into her right. She passed a dead Unsullied along the way, walking towards the dais. When she noticed a soldier get dangerously close to her father, she picked up the shield laying next to the dead man, throwing it horizontally. It wobbled through the air but hit the Unsullied in the back of his neck, right below his spiky helmet. He fell to the ground, Jon driving his sword through his chest. Gendry and Jon were holding back the Unsullied with Anguy's help. He was picking off the soldier's who got too close to the others. She hoped he wouldn't run out of arrows.

She then picked up the spear laying on the ground, heading towards the dais. As she got closer and closer, she took a deep breath, calling out, "Ti'han!" 

* * *

**Ti'han POV**

Ti'han watched as the rebels fought the Unsullied and the Mountain with his golden eyes, studying every move they were making. They were brave, he would give them that. But they were also stupid for thinking they would win. Tala sat next to him, licking his paws, cleaning some dried blood off. Ti'han wondered if it was still from the Queen and the Prince. He smiled, thinking of that moment, glancing at the nobles sitting around him. 

Directly to his left sat Tyrion Lannister and Lord Varys. Both had surrendered once they had taken over the Red Keep. He was keeping Tyrion as a hostage and Varys as a valuable informant. Littlefinger was almost as good for news; speaking of which, he hadn't seen him today. He made a mental note to stop by his brothel later. To his right sat the fool Grand Maester Pycelle. Ti'han was probably going to feed him to Tala in a few days. The man was driving him insane with his helpful hints on how to rule the city. If he wanted a maester's help in ruling, he would at least pick one with half a brain. 

Beside them sat Catelyn Stark and her two children. She watched the fight, eyebrows furrowed in worry. She was clutching her two children's hands, hoping that her husband would live. Ti'han would make sure he wouldn't. He was keeping all three alive for now, as he would hold them to keep the Starks in line. Ti'han would probably execute the son in a few weeks and maybe marry the daughter. She was pretty enough for him. He was currently trying (and failing, at the moment) to execute Ned Stark and a few other nobles. The two remaining Baratheon children sat next to them, the older girl holding her brother. He was sobbing onto her shoulder. The former princess, Myrcella, he suddenly remembered, watched the executions with a hard face. Ti'han was almost impressed. The girl was strong; she hadn't cried since he killed her mother and brother. He was planning to kill the two after this execution, maybe feeding them to Tala. He hadn't decided yet. 

Ti'han watched as Jaime Lannister and the mysterious rebel girl fought off the Mountain. To his pleasure, the Mountain just chopped off Lannister's hand. A second later, the girl drove her Valyrian steel blade through his neck. Ti'han growled, gripping his arm rest beside him. He waved his hand, signaling Meryn Trant to send in more Unsullied and to find the archer hiding in the crowd. 

Ti'han felt as if he knew the girl fighting below him. She moved gracefully, cutting through the troops like a hot knife through butter. She had a similar fighting style to Syrio Forel and Angel. Ti'han suddenly frowned. Angel would be the same age by now. And she did have dark brown hair and pale skin...He gripped his shoulder, thinking of when she drove her skinny blade through it, escaping the pit. She was the only slave to ever make it out of his service alive. A day hadn't gone by without him thinking about killing her. 

He squinted towards her, trying to look at her face. He growled with frustration as she was too far away. He had left her with scars that he would recognize. He wondered if he had taken out her right eye. 

She began to approach the dais, spear in hand. He stood up stepping forward to the balcony, placing his hands on the freshly painted wooden railing that separated them. 

"Ti'han!" She shouted, voice filled with rage. Ti'han found himself smiling. _That's my girl_ , he thought, recognizing her body language and voice. The Angel of Death had come back to him. "Face me yourself, you coward!" She yelled, raising her left arm and throwing the spear. It flew through the air as straight as an arrow. He ducked at the last moment. Fortunate for him, but unfortunate for Meryn Trant who had just stepped behind him. She had thrown it with so much force that it broke through his breast plate, sticking out of his chest. He glanced down with surprise, blood spurting out of his chest. He then fell to his knees and collapsed. The remaining women in the dais shrieked in horror, glancing at the girl.

Ti'han smiled at the display, snapping his fingers at one of the slaves standing in the dais, shouting out a command. The boy quickly followed it, keeping his head down as he held out Ti'han's staff. It was a beautiful piece made of an alloy of metals. He had chosen a golden color for the staff. He had made sure it was made entirely of metal, that way if someone tried to snap it, it wouldn't break. The bladed end was a foot of pure Valyrian steel. It had costed a fortune, but the price was worth it. It was a stunning piece.

He stepped forward, pulling off his tunic with one hand. If it was a fight she wanted, it was a fight she would get. He montioned to Tala, the tiger standing up and leaping over the balcony with him. He landed on the balls of his feet into the blood soaked sand, grinning at Angel.

He studied her with his golden eyes. She had grown into her features: hard gray eyes framed by thick lashes; long, dark hair tucked away into a braid; a set of pouty lips. Her face would be perfect if not for the four inch vertical scar he had left above her eye. His eyes followed down her curves, glancing at the V shaped scar he had left on her arm. In her hands, she held a Valyrian steel blade. It was thinner than a long sword but thicker than the Braavosi sword she wore on her hip.

"Angel!" He patronizingly greeted. "I always knew you'd come back to me." She gripped her sword tighter as he and Tala stalked forward. "You'll have to be punished for running away, but a few whippings should do it. Maybe four, one hundred lashes each. One for every year you were gone. I'll spread them out over a week." He smiled at her again, noticing the enraged look growing on her face. "What do you say?"

"My name isn't Angel," she spat out, glaring at him. Her steely gray eyes were focused on his face. "It's Arya Stark. And I'd die before coming back into your service."

Ti'han raised an eyebrow. This girl was claiming to be a Stark. She did have the look that Eddard had. But they had found her on the side of the road, abandoned and unconscious. They wouldn't leave a nobel girl like that. "I can arrange your death, Angel-Arya-whatever your name is," said Ti'han. He ran forward, raising his staff as it clashed with her blade.

* * *

**Bran POV**

Bran knew he had to help Arya, but had no idea how. It wasn't like he could just grab a sword and join in the mess below him. He was partially crippled from the night Winterfell was attacked and Arya disappeared. She had just thrown a shield an Unsullied that had gotten dangerously close to their father. When his mother saw Arya enter the arena, she gripped Bran and Sansa's hands, eyes beginning to water. Bran was just glad that she had a few others with her.

An idea suddenly popped into his head. He could help her by warging! He planned to warg into the tiger besides Ti'han but thought against it. Some animals resisted initially, striking out at those around them. And he wouldn't risk harming Arya. Summer and Lady had joined the troops outside the city. They were glad to see their brothers and sister, and had joined Nymeria's large pack. That was it! He could warg into Arya's wolf, following the path that Summer and Lady used to escape the city. Nymeria would also be the best option because she would want to protect Arya the most.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on finding the wolf with his mind. It was simpler than he thought; he could find direwolves easier than other wolves. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing over the corpse of an Unsullied, already in the streets of King's Landing. He turned his head behind him, noticing troops spilling into the city. Robb was leading charge, shouting, "For Winterfell!" Along side him ran smaller wolves, Ghost, Grey Wind, Summer, and Lady.

Bran had Nymeria take off in the direction of the Dragon Pit, thinking,  _Hold on, Arya. Help is on the way._

* * *

**Arya POV**

Arya bared her teeth as Ti'han leaped forward, bringing up _Vengeance_ to block his staff. It was a beautiful weapon. Jaime Lannister would love it, the staff made of gold and Valyrian steel. It was just like Ti'han to buy something so unnecessarily expensive. She noticed the white scar on his shoulder where she stabbed when trying to escape. His golden eyes were filled with a strange excitement. 

She jumped backwards, pulling out Littlefinger's head from the bag she wore on her shoulder. She dropped the bag at her feet, holding the rotting head by the hair. "I brought something for you," she said as the threw it at him. It bounced of his golden, muscular chest, leaving some blood. He glanced down at his feet, barking out a laugh as the crowd screamed around him. 

"So that's where Littlefinger is," he said with a grin, slashing his staff forward. She gritted her teeth; a day hadn't gone by without her thinking about killing him.

She smoothly dodged, swinging her sword in a horizontal arc. It connected with the Valyrian steel tip, the two blades vibrating with shock. Arya spun around, extending her blade forward. He effortlessly blocked it with his staff, the two weapons suddenly locked together. With that advantage, Arya pulled out one of the daggers she kept on her hip, throwing it at Ti'han. He barely dodged in time, the weapon scraping his ribs. 

He jumped back, spinning his staff in his hands, glaring at her. She ran forward, launching herself into a one handed cartwheel. As her right hand touched the ground and her feet kicked up, she swung Vengeance down as hard as she could, the blade whistling through the air. Ti'han gritted his teeth as he held his staff with two hands, bending his knees while attempting to block her vertical slash. 

The risky move was fruitless; Ti'han slashed the spear in a horizontal arc, Arya trying to dodge. As she jumped backwards, the blade grazed across her stomach. She held her hand to it as it came away red with blood. As she tried to get her bearings, an orange and black blur knocked her to the ground. 

 _Idiot!_ She chastised herself. How could she forget about Tala! As she was knocked off her feet, the heavy cat landed on top of her, roaring into her face. Tala's paws were on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. She flinched, the sound of it deafening. As she stared into the animal's golden eyes, she suddenly remembered why people were so afraid of Ti'han, why _she_ was so afraid of Ti'han. 

Ti'han strode over, Tala growling into her face. "Sad to see you go like this, Angel. But maybe I shouldn't kill you. You've grown up a lot. Maybe I should take you on as a personal attendant," he said, eyes raking over her body. She nearly gagged. 

She glared, clenching her jaw shut. "I'd kill myself before letting that happen," she gritted out. 

"I'm sure you would!" Laughed Ti'han, running his hands through his black hair. He had tossed the staff aside at this point. As Arya shifted her shoulders, trying to get more comfortable, Tala snapped at her face, a growl sounding from low in her throat. She flinched again, hating the fact that she was terrified of this beast. "You'd do anything that would make me angry. Remember those three boys, the ones you fought so hard to save, then abandoned to escape?"

She refused to look him in the eye, instead staring at _Vengeance_ which was laying ten feet away, abandoned in the sand. 

"I killed them," he said, cruelly grinning as her eyes met his own. "Well, I didn't kill them. Tala here did the work for me. Don't worry; I made sure their deaths were public. I couldn't let others think they could escape without consequence. I've missed this, Angel. And I'm going to miss humiliating you when you're dead," he said. He raised his hand to snap his fingers, signaling Tala to kill.

Arya closed her eyes, waiting for her death.  _Valar morghulis_ , she thought.

The bite never came. Instead, she heard shocked screaming coming from the crowd. Ti'han muttered beside her, "You've got to be kidding me." And suddenly Tala's weight was gone. 

She opened her eyes, turning her head to see Nymeria tearing into Tala's shoulder. The wolf shook her head as she latched onto the tiger. A grin grew on Arya's face as she kicked her feet out, sweeping Ti'han to the ground. He fell with a thud and in an instant, she was on top of him, punching him in the face. She felt his nose crack, blood spurting out. Ti'han grabbed her shirt, flipping her over his head with impossible strength. She landed hard on her tailbone, gritting her teeth. She rolled backwards, standing up a few feet away from him.

Panting heavily, she surveyed the scene around her. When she glanced to her side, she saw Nymeria and Tala circling each other, both crouched low and growling. Her hair had fallen out of her braid as she impatiently pushed it out of her face. Ti'han had just stood up, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, smearing it across his face.

He moved quickly, punching her once in the cheek, his ringed fingers cutting open her face. He then punched her hard in the stomach as she let out a surprised "Oof!" Before he could hit her again, she fought back. "You branded me." she growled out, roundhouse kicking him in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, clutching at his jaw. "Forced me to kill for you. Whipped me. Humiliated me!" She screamed, punching him in the eye. Ti'han stumbled, falling to the ground, quickly trying to get up.

Before he could, she kneed him in the ribs. He rolled over, groaning and clutching his side. "No! Tala!" He moaned. She glanced to the edge of the arena, looking just in time to see Nymeria tear out Tala's throat, blood coating her fur. 

"You killed Syrio!" She screamed, kicking him in the stomach. Pulling out a dagger, she stood over him. 

He glanced up, face bloody and swollen. "How will you feel when I'm dead, Angel?" He asked, golden eyes studying her face. He was on the ground, clutching at the bloody sand. 

She cruelly smiled. "Alive," she answered, raising her dagger to slit his throat.

Before she could finish him, he reached into a small pouch laying on his hip, throwing something at her face. A red powder coated it as she stumbled to the ground, screaming. Her eyes, nose, and throat burned with the powder. She knew exactly what it was. Ghost chili powder! It was a common seasoning used in many of Meereen's dishes to make it extremely spicy. Ti'han always carried it around incase one of his other tigers tried to attack him. Tala was the only well trained one. He used it to blind her!

She clawed at her face, fingernails raking down it, screaming. At the moment, her eyes were tearing as she could not see. She tried to calm down and focus on her breathing, trying to remember Syrio's words. Yet, she couldn't. The burning pain was too much. 

 _I can't see!_ She thought, now kneeling on the ground.  _He's going to get his staff and kill me_ , she thought, panicking. She remembered her time at the House of Black and White, her training with blindness going down the drain. When the Kindly Man had attacked her when she was blind, she warged into the cat to see.

 _Nymeria_. Suddenly, she was looking through Nymeria's eyes. The wolf was running towards Ti'han, trying to stop him. He had just picked up his staff and was running towards the blinded Arya who was kneeling in the sand, head down. Nymeria would never reach them in time. Ti'han was going in for the kill. Ti'han sprinted forward, leaping into the air while raising his staff above his head with two hands. 

Arya slipped out of Nymeria's mind and found herself back in her own. She reached at her belt, pulling out _Needle_ and one smooth motion, holding it out as Ti'han impaled himself on it. Arya heard him gurgle a few times, letting out a shaky death rattle. She then pulled out the thin blade, whispering, "Valar morghulis."

Nymeria was at her side, nuzzling her face and licking her wounds. Arya wrapped her arms around the wolf's neck as Nymeria licked the powder off her face. She was still blinded, instead relying on sound and touch. "It's over," she said. "It's over." As the sounds of fighting began to die out around her, the steel where her heart once was began to melt away. Her chest tingled with the sensation. She raised her right hand to her chest, clutching at her once hardened heart. She felt only warmth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos! I can't believe we're coming to the end. One more to go!


	40. To Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the siege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride this has been!! Last one. Here we go!

After she had killed Ti'han, she kneeled in the sand, Nymeria standing over her. _Needle_ fell out of her grasp as she was too weak to hold it. She was waiting for the fighting to stop, relying on Nymeria to protect her. She heard the crowd cheer, wondering what was going in. She warged into Nymeria again, noticing that Jon had just killed the last Unsullied as more armored men from Westeros began to spill into the arena. She guessed that Robb's siege was successful. After Jon sheathed his blade, he sprinted over to her and she slipped out of Nymeria's mind.

She felt him place his hands on her cheeks, brushing her hair out of her face. He gasped as he noticed her eyes. Her face was still covered in the red powder. "Gods, Arya," he said. She raised her hands, reaching up and grabbing his own. "Are you hurt?"

She nodded slightly, answering in a small voice. "I can't see. And it hurts," she said, hating that she sounded like a child. Her body ached from her battle with Ti'han. She heard thumps in the sand, recognizing Gendry's footsteps. He had the heaviest step out of anyone she knew. "I want mother," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her throat stilled burned from the powder. 

"Oh, Arya," said Jon as he smoothed her hair off her sticky forehead. He placed a small glass bottle between her lips. "Drink this," he commanded, tilting her head back. As she swallowed the liquid, she noticed that it was milk of the poppy. She didn't resist, instead drinking every last drop. She wanted to stop thinking, to just slip away. Although she had finally killed her tormentor, it was still a traumatizing experience. 

Wordlessly, Gendry gently picked her up, positioning her between his arms and his muscled chest. She leaned her head against it, relaxing slightly. Her head was spinning as the milk began to take effect. She began to fall asleep, remembering the two blades that were laying in the sand. "Get my swords," she said hoarsely, hoping Jon heard. As she was rocked in Gendry's steady arms, she passed out. 

* * *

When she woke again, she was laying in the soft beds of the castle infirmary. Men lay in beds all around the room with wounds of all kinds. She turned her head to the left, blinking as her eyes focused. Jaime Lannister was in the bed next to her, muttering about his stump of a hand as he picked at the bandages. His father and brother stood beside him, Tywin with his arms crossed as he swatted at Jaime's head, telling him not to touch the wound. When she glanced to her right, she noticed her father and mother sitting by her bed, a pair of crutches leaning on her father's chair. Nymeria laid at their feet, head perking up when she noticed Arya was awake. 

She saw that her left arm was bandaged, probably broken or sprained from her fight. She felt bruised and battered, finding it too sore to adjust her position. She noticed stitches and bandages covering her stomach and face. 

"Arya," suddenly said her father, leaning forward in his chair. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled like he had sat there for a few days. "You're awake."

Catelyn jumped up, going to the side of her bed. Her hair hung in a messy braid down her back. "Arya, my sweetling," she whispered, grabbing at her hand. Arya felt bad, noticing that Catelyn looked sick with worry. She too had dark circles under her eyes and had seemed to gain a few lines on her forehead.

Her throat was so dry that she couldn't speak. She weakly reached towards the cup sitting on her side table. Her mother reached out, placing it at her lips. Arya leaned forward as she emptied the cup in three gulps, letting out a gasp when she finished. She leaned back into the pillows, her head still spinning. 

"How long was I out?" She croaked out, reaching out and patting the wolf on the head. Her knuckles were bruised and scabbed over. Nymeria's tail thumped on the ground, excited that her master was finally awake.

"Four days," answered her father, running his fingers through the wolf's fur. "Pycelle told us that your wounds were nothing to be concerned about. Your body just needed the rest."

She nodded slightly, her mother patting her head with a cool, damp cloth. She closed her eyes, embracing the feeling. "I take it the siege was successful," she said, noticing the wounded men around the room. If it had failed, she would have woken up in chains in the Black Cells. 

Ned smiled slightly. "Our troops were able to retake the city, with help from the inside. The Dragon Pit provided the perfect distraction for Robb and the others to capture the city. Those who did not surrender were killed. The rest of the executions took place yesterday," he said, his face grim. 

Suddenly, the door of the infirmary busted open, her siblings coming towards her, Jon leading the way. She glanced behind them and noticed Gendry. A large smile grew on her face when she saw him. Her mother and father made room for them. Jon dropped to one knee by her bedside, gripping her hand. His face was etched with worry. "Arya," he whispered, gently squeezing her hand. "You're finally awake." Arya smiled slightly at him, squeezing his hand back. She noticed the sour look on her mother's face. 

Robb gently patted her shoulder, grinning down at her. Theon was next to her, for once a genuine grin on his face. "You're finally awake, Little Wolf," said Robb, rustling her hair. Gendry stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood there silently, studying her bruised and battered face. 

Sansa softly smiled, eyes filled with tears of happiness. She looked as perfect as always, dressed in a pale green southern dress with her hair pulled out of her face. "I was so worried, Arya," she said. "You were so brave."

Bran was last, sitting at the edge of her bed. "You're almost as good at warging as I am," he said, a small smile on his face. Arya returned it. Robb reached over, pulling a curtain around her bed to give them some privacy. 

"Now that you're all here," said Catelyn, standing up as she smoothed her dress down. Robb, Theon, and Jon suddenly had looks of worry on their faces as she glared at all three, smacking Robb and Theon upside the head. They both looked down, rubbing at the back of their heads. Thank the gods Jon was on the other side of the bed. "How could you let her into the city?" She yelled, smacking Robb again. "This is your fault too," she hissed, jabbing a finger at Jon.

Before they could explain themselves, Arya sighed. "Mother, enough of this," she pleaded. Catelyn stood firm, hands clenched at her side. "Please," she added. Catelyn sat down, crossing her arms over her chest. "They didn't let me do anything," she said, shifting into her pillows. "Robb tried to get me to go back to Winterfell. I threatened to enter the city by myself. Jon came with me, knowing it was his best option to protect me."

"Why?" Asked her father. "Why put yourself in such unnecessary danger?" He said. "There were plenty of other men who could do the same thing."

Arya's face hardened. "Because I was the one who abandoned you in the city. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you had been killed and I wasn't here to protect you. And I had to be the one to kill Ti'han Volantes." She gripped at the sheets, thinking of his death. She wished she could have seen it instead of hearing it. 

"He was the one who owned you," said Sansa, finally understanding. She had her hands clasped in front of her dress, her hair braided down her back. Arya nodded, surprised that she was the one to figure it out. 

"He bought me ten years ago, owning me for six years. For the first year, I was kept out of the pits. But eventually I started fighting. I was his prized fighting slave. They called me the Angel of Death," she said, her face filled with sadness. She tried to think of those she had killed, their faces slipping away. She had killed too many to remember. "He branded me," she said, pointing at the "V" scar. "Had me whipped for humiliation. Forced me to kill," she said, tears beginning to roll down her face. She took a deep breath, wiping at her cheeks. "I had to be the one to kill him." She glanced at her parents, noticing the looks of sadness on their faces. "I'm sorry I ran away," she said quietly. "But I remember now. I regained my memory when I met up with Nymeria in the Riverlands. For the first time in my life, I know who I am. I'm Arya Stark."

Gendry sent her a look filled with pity. Before anyone could speak again, she said, "While in Meereen, I met a man from Braavos. I saved a few lives and in return, he gave me a choice to say any three names I wanted to have killed. I should have named Ti'han then, but I wanted to kill him myself. He helped me escape, giving me an iron coin to pay for my passage. I traveled to Braavos, cashing in my coin."

Jon, Robb, and Theon glanced at the ground, uncomfortable with the situation. "I trained with and served the Faceless Men of Braavos," she said, her face void of all emotion. Her parents looked shocked, Catelyn pressing one hand to her mouth. "While in Meereen, I started a list of those I wanted kill. The Faceless Men gave me the tools to do that. I left their service after my dreams connected with Bran's."

Bran raised an eyebrow at that, saying, "So that's where valar morghulis comes from. The saying of the Faceless Men."

She nodded, answering, "All men must die. But I don't want to kill anymore. I'm done serving the Many-Faced God. And I'm done with death," she said, her voice tired.

There was a moment of silence before her father spoke. Holding out his hand, he said, "I believe this is your's, Arya." Sitting in his palm was her silver wolf ring. At the sight of it, a smile grew on her face. She reached out, slipping it onto her finger. This time, it was here to stay. Her father gave Catelyn's hand a squeeze as he said, "I'd like a moment alone, please."

Arya attempted to reposition herself on the pillows, failing because she was too weak. Her family left her bedside, Jon giving her a small kiss on her forehead. "Not you Gendry," said Eddard. Gendry looked surprised as he raised his eyebrows, slowly walking to the opposite side of the bed. He reached down and grabbed Arya's hand.

"Of course, Lord Stark," he finally sputtered out. Arya gave him a reassuring smile. 

Ned sighed as he held his head in his hands. Arya was surprised at this small moment of weakness. He suddenly raised it, looking at both of them with determination. "This is not easy to say. And it may lead to more danger for all of us. But it's time you found out," he said, giving them a sad glance.

Arya gave him a confused glance. "About what, father?" She asked. Why was he acting so secretive?

He sighed again. "I believe Gendry is the natural born son of Robert Baratheon," he finally said. Arya's eyebrows shot up as Gendry's mouth fell open. They were too surprised to ask any questions. "You are the spitting image of Robert at a young age. I noticed it when you took out the Unsullied with the war hammer. Robert used to use one too."

Gendry sat next to Arya, burying his head in his hands. Arya spoke for him. "He should be legitimized," she said, eyes filled with determination and hate. "If Robert ignored him and allowed him to live in Flea Bottom, he should at least give him what he deserves to have. A name, at least."

Gendry gently laid a hand on her leg, signaling her to stop. "No," he evenly stated. "I don't want any part of this. I see the type of life you nobles have. Being a bastard Baratheon would just make things worse."

Eddard let out a sigh of relief as he slowly stood up with the help of his crutches. "You're a good lad, Gendry. Better than most," he said. He gave the two a sad look. "You look so much like them," he whispered, shaking his head. "I'll leave you alone now." He hobbled past the curtain. It was finally the two of them alone.

Gendry smiled, grabbing her hand. "I suppose I should give you an explanation of why I fought him alone," she started, studying his face. He had just shaven, his face completely clean. He had a purple bruise on his jaw from the battle. She was sure there were some other wounds. 

He shook his head, smiling. "I know you well enough now. You deserved to kill him," he said, his face suddenly serious. He smiled again, leaning forward and gently kissing her. She closed her eyes, melting into his kiss. He suddenly pulled away, giving her a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You need more rest. And I can't do this in front of your family," he whispered.

Arya gave him a sly smile, "You better get used to it," she said as his mouth dropped open in shock. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him even harder. This time, they didn't stop. 

* * *

She was on her feet within the week. When she was finally able to walk around (slowly), she was summoned to the throne room along with the Brotherhood of Banners. The King was holding a ceremony in honor those who overthrew Ti'han Volantes. Everyone was in attendance, an isle made directly down the center for the crowd of people that attended. Robert Baratheon sat on the Iron Throne, Tywin Lannister standing next to him along with the High Septon. Arya stood in the front with her family.

Robert stood slowly from his chair, looking down at the crowd. For once, his golden stag crown was straight on his head. "Many thought that when the slavers took over the city, it was the end of royalty in Westeros, signaling the reign of a new terror. One where men force those below them into chains. Without the actions of our brave warriors, they would have succeeded. Ti'han Volantes," he spat out, disgust evident on his face. "The tiger master of Meeren. With the help of the Brotherhood of Banners and a few others, we retook the city!" Cheers erupted from the crowd as Robert gestured with his hand, the High Septon stepping forward. 

Arya soon realized it was a knighting ceremony. Names were called of those who assisted in the siege from inside the city. Gendry, Jon, Berric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Tom, Aunguy, Lem, the Hound, Bronn. Even Hot Pie, for Gods' sake! They were all called to the front of the room, anointed with the seven oils, and then knighted. It was not a typical knighting ceremony, as they were not given the simple robes or forced to take off their shoes. Most ceremonies were held in the Great Sept. Also, Jon did not follow the Faith of the Seven. Robert droned on, tapping them with his sword, giving them the title of Ser _____ of the Dragon Pit. 

After a long time, it was done, Jon and Gendry smiling at her as they passed by. Arya thought it was over, part of her annoyed that she had not been mentioned. After all, she was the one that initiated the battle. "There was one person in particular who lead the revolt," said Robert, his electric blue eyes meeting her own. "Arya Stark."

She stood frozen for a moment, not understanding what to do. Her father gave her a gentle push, encouraging her to head up the steps. It was almost funny how similar it was to her proposal to Joffery.  Slowly, she made her way up, not understanding what was happening.

"Arya Stark was the one who scaled the Red Keep's cliffs to enter the city. She was the one to alert the troops on the outside to start the siege. She was the one to lead the attack on the Dragon Pit. And she was the one to kill Ti'han Volantes," said Robert, his voice booming around the room. "Without her heroism, many of us would not be standing here. Today marks a day Westeros will remember forever, as a woman has never been knighted before." 

Gasps sounded around the room. No one had dared to knight a woman. She numbly kneeled at his feet, head down. "Arya of house Stark," he said, touching a sword to her right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." The sword moved from right shoulder to left. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just." The blade moved back to her right shoulder. "In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young." The left. "In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect the innocent. In the name of the Crone I charge you to be wise. In the name of the Smith I charge you to use your steel for good. And in the name of the Stranger, I charge you to kill those who bring evil to our world."

Arya's eyes opened as the High Septon sprinkled the seven oils over her head. Robert spoke again. "Rise, Dame Arya Stark of the Dragon Pit. May the people of Westeros follow your selfless examples." Arya stood, her gray eyes studying the crowd. Her brothers were loudly cheering along with many others. Her mother and father held each other, looking extremely proud. 

All she had wanted as a child was to travel the world, going on adventures and eventually become a knight.  _I did travel the world_ , she thought as she took her place besides her family. She slipped her hand into Gendry's shooting him a smile.  _And some would think my life was an adventure, battling in the fighting pits of Meereen, escaping slavery, becoming a Faceless Man, then a guard of the Hand, fighting in a trial by combat, leading a siege on the city, then being the first woman knight. This sounds like one of Sansa's silly books...I've had enough adventure for my lifetime. I just want to go back home, to Winterfell._

* * *

After another week  in the city, it was time for her family to leave. Sansa had decided to marry Willas Tyrell in the Red Keep's Godswood since he was in the city since the siege. She had left for Highgarden a few days before. Arya already was planning on visiting her and planned to see the rest of the seven kingdoms. She especially wanted to visit Dorne. There was a huge procession to see off the remaining Starks, everyone meeting in the castle's courtyard. Robert, Tywin, and the Small Council was there to see them off along with other nobles. A lot of her recently knighted friends were there too. She hugged Robert, Tyrion, and received a firm handshake from Tywin. 

She then made her way over to her friends. "Arry!" Shouted Hot Pie, picking her up and swinging her around. Tears filled his eyes as he set her down. "I can't believe I won't see you again." He shoved a warm package into her hand. "I want you to have this."

She glanced up at him, unwrapping the napkin it was packed in. In her hands, sat a wolf shaped piece of bread. Her mouth dropped open. "Thank you, Hot Pie!" She said, beaming at him as she wrapped her hands around his neck. "Or should I say Ser," she joked. He threw back his head and laughed.

Tom, Aunguy, and Lem then crowded her. "We're going to miss you, little killer," said Aunguy. 

"We couldn't have gotten our new jobs without you, Arry," said Lem, smiling down at her. With some prodding from Arya, Tywin hired Lem and Tom as two new Gold Cloaks. And they needed all they could get with the corruption running through the city. Aunguy had been appointed as a castle archer. 

"Take care, Arry," said Tom as he ruffled her hair. The three left, leaving her with Gendry.

He glanced at her, an extremely serious look on his face. He wore a clean white shirt with a leather jerkin, dark brown pants, and sturdy boots. For once, his hands weren't covered with soot. He pushed his messy black hair out of his eyes, stepping closer to her.

"I made you something," he said, grabbing at her hand. "Close your eyes," he commanded. She complied, feeling him place a belt in her hand. When she opened them again, her mouth dropped open.

"It's beautiful, Gendry," she breathed, holding the sword belt closer to her face. On it, sat _Needle_ and _Vengeance_. Vengeance's hilt was completely redone, the edge now boasting a snarling wolf. It was made out of a shiny steel. The wolf had golden eyes, probably made out of amber. The rest of the sword handle was also redone. She brought it close to her eyes, seeing the intricate designs. On it, sat a howling wolf, a Braavosi sword, and a bull. She laughed as she looped the belt through her pant holes, asking, "Why the bull?"

"So you won't forget me," he said, pulling her into a hug. "I'll never stop thinking of you, Arry." She stood still, not understanding what is happening. 

"Well of course you won't forget me. You'll see me everyday in Winterfell," she said, a castle guard leading over two horses. She pulled herself up onto the back of one, tucking her feet into the stirrups. 

Gendry's mouth dropped open. "Wha-are you-huh?" He finally managed to stutter out. 

She let out a laugh. "You didn't think I'd leave you in Flea Bottom, did you? I spoke with my father; Wintefell's blacksmith is getting old and is looking for a new apprentice. And it just so happens that I know one," she said with a wink.

He blinked at her, gesturing towards the horse as if to ask, is that mine? She nodded as he clumsily pulled himself up, sitting awkwardly on the saddle. She realized that Gendry had not ridden before. Growing up in Flea Bottom, he never needed to. He beamed at her, leaning over to horse to give her a kiss on the cheek. That wasn't enough for her. She pulled at his jerkin, closing her eyes as her lips met his own. 

They broke apart, smiling at each other when they heard a voice below them. "Arry?" Asked Hot Pie. "If they're giving out jobs out there, would it be too much to ask for one in Winterfell's kitchens?"

She glanced at Gendry, mischief on both their faces. A grin crept onto her own. "Sure, Hot Pie," she answered. A smile grew on her face. "But you're going to have to find a horse or cart," she laughed, sending her horse into a gallop. Gendry followed behind her, the rest of the travelers heading towards the King's Road. 

"Wait, Arry! Arya! Arrrrrryyyyyyyy! I made you the wolf bread!" Yelled Hot Pie, running behind her. Arya didn't stop, finding it too much fun to mess with him. She knew he would eventually figure out to hitch a ride on the cart. 

She flew through King's Landing's cobbled streets, eventually heading through the King's Road. It was time for her to head to Winterfell, to home. With Nymeria at her heels, she flew along the path, the wind blowing through her long hair.  And for the first time in ten years, her heart felt as light as a feather.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Eighty years after Arya Stark returned to Winterfell and one year after her death, Maester Bran Stark published his tenth and most famous novel. Titled, The True Tales of Dame Arya Stark, it told her story, starting from the day she was born to her knighting. Although it was a biography, many took it as fiction. After all, how could one girl have such an eventful and tragic life. 

But for all of the tragedy she experienced as a child, the rest of her life was happy. She married Gendry Waters (Bran Stark claimed he was a Baratheon that was never legitimized. Gendry later told Arya that the King had privately offered to legitimize him but Gendry refused. He did not want to get up with the Game of Thrones. Gendry and Arya would never pursue the iron throne) in Winterfell's Godswoods. Many people traveled from all over the Seven Kingdom's to attend the wedding. Gendry became Winterfell's blacksmith and he and Arya lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the castle. The two had three children, two boys and one girl. Each child was more wild than the last. Gendry passed away in his sleep three years before Arya did. 

Dame Arya Stark passed away on the last day of the shortest summer Westeros had ever experienced. It had only lasted two years. She died surrounded by her three children, sixteen grandchildren, and five great grandchildren. She was buried in Winterfell's crypts alongside Gendry and her direwolf, Nymeria. Although it was tradition to only erect statues of Winterfell's lords, Bran Stark insisted that one was made in her honor. 

The stone mason used an old drawing of her to develop the statue. She stood proud and strong,  _Vengeance_ and _Needle_ in each hand. The two blade were no replicas; they were the real swords. A statue of her snarling direwolf lay at her feet. A small tablet sat on the base of the statue, words carved into the stone. Bran recorded her last words. There were only two. 

_Valar Morghulis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your support. Seriously, I wouldn't be writing without you guys. This story was a ton of fun to write. And you all kept it fun! Thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments.
> 
> Just to let you all know, I plan on rewriting the Iron Ring. I accidentally deleted it so I am planning on reposting the entire story. I hope to have it up by January. It could be earlier! In the end, I believe that Arya and Gendry would be happy with their small piece of land. 
> 
> I thought it was fitting to knight Arya. How could I not? She was the one who saved Westeros.
> 
> Thanks again guys! It means so much to me. See you later!! 
> 
> -AC333


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